And her heart’s beat was suspended,
She meant nothing, she was empty.
A Nothing, a
worthless child and endless cliché.
I held Loneliness just for her, as if it were a precious
jewel.
To be salvaged, adorned and then finally sold,
Sold for silver or the price of gold, but for nothing
useful.
And I held my breath; she held her hands at her breast.
My eyes scanned for meaning but she was vacant,
Painted perfect and filled with ambitious but so
transparent.
Like cut-glass, her vision was altered and heart splintered.
Just screaming for some meaning, some purpose, anything.
A place to sleep, a corner to hide in, a crawl-space to lie
in –
Her dreams were fragmented, endless and so bland.
It seemed as if her own thoughts were not hers,
They belonged to someone else.
And she always ran away.
She always took something away.
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