She watched beauty from afar,
it appeared as something alien to her,
she felt no envy of it,
it was too distant from her,
that it became only an abstract concept.
Moths fluttered in her head
in soft soundless whispers,
she watched the world fade
with a child-like sense of wonder,
she knew not of fear
for it is only a delusion.
Yet she lived in a world of illusion,
she liked to pluck the stars
out of the sky and they became her eyes,
until in time they burned out,
she never understood that she was
supposed to feel pain.
She hid behind glass walls
for others could only see
reflections of what they already believe,
and she was distorted in their eyes.
It was impossible to brush against her
without losing something,
she was a thief of souls and visions,
she liked to collect tokens and trinkets,
of lives so she could examine them
out of context and make patchwork quilts
and recreations that she absorbed
into her pores.
She spoke only in tongues
not out of divinity
Sainthood would terrify her
she did not live for purity
though she was one of the untouched.
So beauty continued to haunt her
and elude her dreams,
but if ever she drew close enough to touch it
she would shudder away in repulsion.