As I sit here by the fading candlelight,
With which my hand guides my pen to write,
I find myself desperately clutching to memories of old,
Timeless, yet changed, sombre contradictions of the love that I hold.
Hidden depths with something so shallow,
Layers beneath the surface though deeply hollow,
Appearance doesn’t matter, society hath said throughout the ages,
Yet Beauty, skin and weight turn pages.
A subtle dream of perfection,
Striving to change her reflection,
A skeletal, sunken image of pain,
Inside her word are raging storms and angry rain.
Her world of sadness and falling apart,
Not a care to the breaking heart,
And a glowing smile that with it brings,
Happiness, to so many other beings.
A selfish need in her deep within,
A child weeping in a woman’s skin,
Concentration slipping, Strength of will sieving
Help her? NO she’s tired of living... |
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