Heartache

Who would steal it, unless she put it on display?
And who would ever want it,
Unless she gave it away?

Anyway,
She was certain if anyone
Broke her heart
They wouldn't find anything inside
For it was only empty

Survival of the fittest

Glossy pages of photographs,
Thousands of words,
Drawn from the lengths of glossy lips
And their lipstick smiles.
Your features adapted
To the shape of
Skinny jeans and
The slant of stilettos,
Man-made pedestals
On which you perch precariously.
Your fragile body,
Contorted into angles
To fill the space between
You and them.