she's too pretty to bury

snow white in her glass grave

Skin as white as snow,
As white as a withered corpse will grow.

Hair as black as ebony,
As black as the void, forever locked without key.

Lips as red as the rose,
As red as the blood that once sat between her skin and bone.

And so reads the words echoed on her glass grave:
“So beautiful, even in death, the dwarfs could not find it in their hearts to bury her.”
And so she lies in the forest, displayed.

Now her innocence will remain.
Her skin won’t fade.
Death saved her from a crueler fate:
Losing her beauty due to age.

Lips pouting
And slightly parted.
Catering to mourners’ fantasies.
Ready to be kissed as they please.

And some travelers thought it was better this way.
For when you try kiss a doll,
It won’t run away.