Behind the Veil

A blue veil covers her face,
eyes dark behind the lace.
Lips red,
cheeks flushed;
her hair is tousled,
thick and dark.
She stands proud -
chin up and eyes ahead,
a sardonic grin twisting her lips.
Her back is straight in her black gown
and her lines are long and unbroken.
Inside though,
past the blank gaze and the twisted mouth,
past the flushed skin and the lines,
there's steel -
barricades so high that she can't see out:
no windows.
No doors.
No grates.
Here she sits -
knees to chest, head low, eyes ahead -
with broken lines.
She's pale, so pale,
and black smears her cheeks.
There is no dress to pool about her;
only nakedness,
barely hidden by her own limbs.
Bruises mar the flesh,
while cuts tear at her joints,
and mud crusts her limp, dark hair.
"Don't look at me,"
she whispers.
"Don't look.
Don't look.
Or you'll see..."