Sweeping the streets she drags her feet. No place to sleep. She tries to let her heart speak to those close to her, but their hearts wont hear. Her soul cracks like that of her tired feet. She begs but plea lands on deaf ears. Fear! She should not have ran. She thinks. Now she falls, and drops, no surface so further she plumits to her descent... Abscent of form. Torn. She is torn. Broken she seeks solace in elders pockets, Which inevitably leads her sleep her way back to the past demon, The demon that mis-held her, That misled her, That mis-laid her. Back in the dark corridor she tries hard to hold on. But harsh is this coal and ash she walks on. Her life this sad song an echo long gone... An echo long gone so far away! Eyes drowned like her soul, She knows not her home, Where she watched brutality chamelion its skin in love. Where she learnt the unmistakable union of fists on skin, Belt-buckles and nuckles. Roap burns on wrists hiding razor slashes. Slashes that help her feel release... release she seeks... Then they speak. The tiny people tempt her sneek drugged treats from strangers she meets while she works the nights streets. She has found her release! Although a momentary solution she embraces this little crack at the door. Does the morning sun not shine in another world? Waiting day after day for night to end She toils ends meet. Working night after night for day to break through, She consumes the moon, Hoping suns light will show through Dipping her fists deep she clenches the waters from this well. History is a repeating sequence; Betrayal, conceit, denial, deceit. Slowly she gives in. Slowly she cries defeat. Life is now a will left, She has no more will left. A loose bulb hangs by a wire, Flickering. Static shadows sway in place. Wondering. Is this life or is this my state? Fathoming. A final slit to the wrist... ending.
Posted on: Mon, 05 May 2014 08:02:42 +0000
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