and where my heart

once beat at full force

you could hear a

pin drop.

you'd driven a nail

right through

the center

with a crack and a pop.

the lines you once

traced over my chest

have grown old but the

skin still raw.

i ached again

for your touch but i

wanted to get better-

without you, i was, i saw.

It had been far too long for her old fingers to react with surprise when she pricked it with an old pin. Her hands had been rubbed raw on the fine linen, many years of pinpricks, and decades of thread wear. She readjusted the new hem, which she lined up with the chalk mark made at the fitting, several inches up. She had to remove that extra fabric, which was old, and handed down for nearly ten generations. The buttons had cracked from the tightness of the sewing thread and the pressure of holding the waistline in place for those young men that had worn these trousers all those years. As she sheared the excess fabric away, she placed it in a small paper bag, to be returned to the current owner. She ran her nail across the width of the leg opening, which she cut just right, without a millimeter to spare.

She folded the trousers and placed them on the counter, and wrapped them in a plain brown paper, which was secured with a soft twine. The customer bell had been rung, and she made her way to the counter. A young boy had been waiting quietly while she came to assist him. He said nothing, and placed a ticket upon the countertop. It had the number 338 stamped on it, along with today's date, and a large red PAID stamped over it. She smiled and walked into the back and retrieved his package. Those trousers she had just finished and had placed on the shelf was his. She returned to the counter, where the quiet boy awaited with great patience. She smiled again to him and said, "I knew your father, and he was a wonderful man. I hope these trousers serve you as well as they did your father." The boy snapped up the package with both thin arms and raced out of the shop. The old lady began to cry, as she gazed upon the framed front page of the local newspaper. THOUSANDS PERISH AS TEXTILE FACTORY GOES UP IN FLAMES.

There's a fine line between beauty and you. Did you know if you look up beautiful in the dictionary the definition talks about the most beautiful people getting picked for modeling agencies? That's not you. You are not beautiful. You are more than that. The word that describes you is too great for our universe. You are far beyond the twenty-first century; and yet you come from a simpler time, one with free spirits and cobble stone roads. The word that describes you highlights the cracks in your chapped lips, or the soil beneath your nails. The way your voice is raw and chipped after you've cried about something you love. It's the way you look up through your lashes when someone says something stupid, and yet you can't help but laugh. The way you are passionate about the stars and others' lives. Your weird music taste and crazy ideas for life. Those are things that make you beyond beautiful. This world tries to pinpoint what beauty is and that's where they're wrong.

So no, I will never call you beautiful. I will search for a word that describes you and all of who you are. Stay you, my darling.

Our eyes lack a depth of field big enough to comprehend

Watching through a pin hole

Acting as if we understand

How much have we forgotten through the passage of time

Burned and pillaged

Building our own coffins one nail at a time

As the facade begins to crack

There is a thin line between peace and war

As we pretend we are not born of the same blood

And raw emotions plunder us back to the dark ages once again

The crack in her soul grew bigger and deeper, opening up a chasm between her dreams and her nightmares.

Her flesh is raw from the countless times that she's opened and exposed herself to others.

The line that separates reality and her thoughts begins to fade in her mind, leaving only a faint memory of where the line use to be.

A pin pierces her thick and callused skin just to see if she can still feel pain.

Her nails grow long as her bother for self grooming is lost in the space of her mind.

Raw sheer luck.

That was all I needed, but also all that could save me.

Like finding a needle in a haystack.

A fine line between dead and alive.

Hammering a nail without that hammer.

Just a crack snap pop bam boom and it'd be done.

If only it was that easy.

Pinning the tail on no donkey.

That's trying to get you back.

Amelia stood in stock stillness as the dressmaker worked around her. She was important. The queen had told her so and now she being treated like a princess.

Hair done up and dripping with pearls and gems made it hard for Amelia to lift her head more than an inch. Not that she minded, it was where her eyes belonged. And as the dressmaker pulled the starch white fabric tight around her her hip she winced. Just before the pin stuck her, as it had done so many times before. But each pin in her flesh that sent waves of pain down her spine was worth it.

Lifting a timid hand Amelia chewed on her nail anxiously. She had been at the dressmakers for quiet awhile. She didn't want the Queen to forget her promise.

Within the next hour though the Queen arrived and Amelia's nerves were calmed.

"Are you ready Ame?"

"Forever for you my Queen."

The Queens mouth formed a thin line before cracking into a smile. She had secrets to hide but the child didn't need to know. Taking Amelia by the hand the queen then leads her outside where the sea breeze was rolling inland in waves.

"Is he handsome?"

"Very." The Queens words had a particular sort of coldness to them that Amelia easily glossed over in her state of excitement.

The Queen had promised her a handsome, young, wealthy husband for years of loyal service.

As they arrive at the cliffs though, Amelia gives a confused look.

"My-"

"Through here child." Helping Amelia through an opening in the hollowed out cliff the Queen presses a bottle to Amelia's palm and closes her fingers around it.

"I send my love to you."

Steeping away from the opening Amelia watch as a slab out rock obscure the Queen from her view and the light is snuffed out. She felt raw. She felt tricked, deceived, deluded.

A quick survey though shows her that dim light is being emitted from a few torches. And atop a large slab a young man sleep. That Queen had delivered!

Rushing over Amelia kisses his brow in happiness but the man doesn't move. She frowns.

"My love?" Stroking his face her brow furrows with worry. "Are you alright?"

It isn't until she takes her glove off that she understands. The queen had never promised her husband to be alive.