Locked up inside her head,
Thinking herself dead–
Pining for things left unsaid;
Torn pieces of might-have-beens,
Piling up on her empty bed.
It’s too convenient to end it
And make them all believe
That she didn’t make it;
It’s too easy to simply sleep
And drown in the lunacy
That holds her, forever adrift–
And yet, another voice demands
That she doesn’t leap.



She stands with trembling knees
And covers her head with her hand;
Her skin appears too translucent
And her make-up bleeds in the heat.
A weather-beaten maiden;
Just another common, nameless face.
A few minutes more, it seems,
And you’ll see her blown by the breeze.
Yet, what no one realizes
Is that her feet are firmly planted
On the slippery ground–
And that her heart’s fully set
On getting what she truly seeks.