I can see her on the sound, blue eyes staring at the ground pouring icy wizened
tears, products of fifteen long years. Dragged beneath the broken ties of fourteen years
that whisper lies, empty words stifled her soul, filling up that preteen hole
and overflowing decent ends; overwhelming former friends, the little pool of darkness
grew, drowning everything she knew, including her broken heart. It was
dead, would not restart, dwindling down on hate's cyclone, resolving
itself alone, cradling the jagged scars left by Fate's
cruelest jail bars. Her reflection lying there wonders
whether she should care; whether she should
try again to brave that futile
empty pen. She finally sees
that it is done:
Happy days stayed
in year
one.