I am but a spark
Nestled in an ivory tower
Made of greed and
forged by its sails
The only time she was seen,
was by herself in the mirror.
She could not tell which
was shattered.
She cried every night,
hoping that her falling tears
And not the dreaded rain
would finally put her fire out.
-
Her days passed
chronological,
Deep with the monotony
Of twice-passed dreams
Always regretting the day
she first picked up the blade
Today, is one she spends in fear
Running from the insidious crawl
of the sinful slithering scythe
For so long, she has been good.
For months, she denied herself
the temptation to bleed.
Her eyes avoided the edges of paper
Skin shivering when a pencil\'s tip
just the thought could draw
The last drops she knew she had left
The silver gleam was her nicotine
repulsed by her craving,
She could taste the dribble on her skin...
And the release
-
Sharp were the thoughts of bitter regret
Grinding burning rust in her decaying mind,
she muddled them with despondent cotton
Just like everyone else.
Until one day,
the blade ran at her