Her eyes are shut. They’ve been set that way.
Her skin is like plastic. Cold as ice; clammy as a cold night sweat. Blue. Red. Gray.
The circles under her eyes will be painted over; regardless of the fact that she never hid them before. She’ll be dressed with the utmost perfect dress, although she’d be more comfortable in jeans and a white tank.
Warm fresh blood will never run through her veins…nothing ever will. Maybe the last droplets of hope she once had… but she won’t feel them.
Her soul has left her body. 3 pounds lighter. She would be happy.
Does anyone ever think of this? The image of the body everyone gets to see, and the body that is there in actuality. The temperature of the porcelain cloth that hides everything that was always meant to be kept away from the world. The emptiness of eyes no one will ever look into again. The soul that now flutters aimlessly in the world.
Rest in Peace, Brittany Murphy, surely you will be missed.
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