Thursday, May. 08, 2003/10:16 pm

withered soul

Bathed in tar.

She sits alone nursing deepan pizza and ice cream sundaes. Multicoloured sprinkles with mint and strawberry whip.

Leaving her mobile phone ringing into the sofa.

Shadowed eyes bathed in concelear. Touche eclait, Yves Saint Laurent.

Benefit tinted mosturiser and dandilion powder.

Lipstain covers purple sheen.

Fingernails left bare, corpse copycat, hinting at truth.

She spills hot chocolate on her keyboard, biscuit crumbs between the keys.

She comforts others but doesn't let them near.

Eating all she can just to turn her stomach back over. Raiding cupboards like treasure chests. Looking for the gold. Still unfound to this day.

Trying to empty out what remains of her soul.

Bleeding, crying, screaming, soul.

Chimes wail through the night like signs of whats to come.

Scars decorate her skin. A photo album of hurt. Each dent cursing her future.

Lies and broken promises, an everyday occurance. Words of spoken deceit riddle her with guilt. Timebombs ready to explode, with all she has been collecting along the way.

She wants to wear that dress. The pretty dress, the one that clings to her stomach. Even if the smallest size won't fit. Flowers decorate the fabric. Black and red and pink.

She wants to feel safe in her own body. To be able to walk into a room and not want to run to the nearest exit.

To feel healthy and well. Not frail with thin limp hair and weak limbs.

To feel beautiful.

To brush the pain out.

Smashing her life in her hands.

The taste of blood in her throat.

Glass thrown against the floor.

Nothing gained, nothing lost, nothing forgotten.

Breeze parts through the trees, spreading poison through grey air.

Spark lights freeze out.

Candles hover over water.

Her shine luminous through the flame.

Withering out.

Fading.

She's lost hope in the sky she once looked to.

And can't even recognise her own face anymore.