Stretched into a pirouette Porcelain arms above her head Pristine balance and tight bunned hair A trickle of salt water dread The lace toe shoe grips the edge Atop the orange lip of God Sprawling below is dark abyss She could fall with just a prod A heart made by shards of glass Window shatter by construct Pieced together to make a quilt But formed a machine by pure luck Pagan religion to compete Her sanity left calling On the edge she forever stands But lives in fear of falling