Porcellus

I was porcelain and precise; the whole, finally realised.
I let their words fill me up, lap at my cadaverous lips before I let them fall.
Fall. Fall. Always falling into irrelevant nothingness.
I was unbreakable, clear-cut and correct.
Their acrid words; they came and they left.
They came and they left, but ashen tongues wouldn't blacken me.
I was white, and bright.
They stared deep inside me and I reflected them loyally, doubtlessly, constantly.
I was the whole, finally realised.

But now my exterior is chipped and broken, cracks appear.
My skin peels away revealing velvet red.
I am tattered paper, shattered remanants of the whole no longer realised.
Pale bones turn to dust under their breathless whispers, their beckoning cries. Smothering, they cover me entirely, always.
Always mocking me.
They mock the whole that is no longer realised.
The whole no longer realised, that may never be again.