She writes poems

By the light of the sun

As it falls through the window,

Making night come undone.

Even though it can't pierce

The clouds in her mind;

emotional pollution

She can't leave behind.

In her words, she leaves clues,

a message laid bare -

Aimed at that someone, him,

Who clears her despair.

It's too easy to smile,

And no one reads the plea

written behind her happy thoughts.

A subtle 'HELP ME.'

So when rain hits the window,

That echoing call

Erodes at her heartstrings

And she lets the chair fall.



She writes poems

To peer inside herself.

She finds understanding there,

But not anywhere else.

The scratch of her pen,

The scratch of the knife;

Shining, disgraced treasures,

But both worth her life.

A ghost half-hidden in lamplight.

A watcher from afar.

In a world of blue undertones,

Her soul burns, a star.

At first the fire simmers,

Then it bursts in full light -

An inferno that scorches,

Hurts, makes her own eyes turn white.

Feeding that forbidden urge,

A heart's pounding encore -

A dreadful rush of blood,

And she falls to the floor.



She writes poems

In stolen moments of peace.

Like a crystal-clear beach

That serves as her release.

Judgement weighs on her mind,

Bruises ache on her skin.

Pain melts down into anger,

Secrets scream from within.

Building towering walls,

Keeping herself at arm's length,

She searches for something

To claim as her strength.

But bound to her fears

By red ribbons of fate,

She won't understand love

Until it's already too late.

Watching her safe place

Turn deadly; she's scared and alone

As the code wrings her neck

Until it reaches the bone.



She writes poems

That aren't poems at all.

It took her so long to get here,

It took so long so fall.

You never looked out,

But she was always looking in.

Rewriting the script

With a pen dipped in sin.

Knowledge takes away meaning.

Love blends into hate.

Legend tells of a lady

Who rebelled against fate.

Now it's just her,

In a world turned to rust.

A ruined, broken script.

Even more broken trust.

Still, you dealt your hand.

You did what you thought best.

In the void of your grief,

You laid the last one to rest.