You see these stuttering texts
Sent from a heart to a desktop
And question the ideals you read before
About a solitary departure.
Yet such words are typical of a fox
Whose fur has been scalped
Exposing her blackened self
Which contrasts her golden locks and tenacity
As well as the tricks meant to protect her
In her natural world.
But the eyes of a fox
-Although also most deceptive-
Hold the most truth in them.
These dimmed, misty eyes
Scanning the extensively dulled claws
Faintly scratching at the keyboard
Have pooled sincere tears
Tame as the animal they come from
Stone-hard air swells in her lungs,
And thoughts which swim in a corrosive,
Tar-polished mindset are gurgling:
“You've ruined everything.”
The fox’s coyness is no longer a charade
The decaying pit in her chest lay bare
All but a vulture’s eye sits crudely
Guzzling the exposed pollution
An idol of conformity to her,
A broken yelp bursts out her maw
But with no direction
Only the intentions you can’t see
Through this screen.
The loathsome wanderer recedes
But gazes plaintively at these words
Sent from a heart, written on a file,
An unstructured, but proper expression
Of a desire to set things right above all.
She burrows by the laptop
And rests a weary teal eye
Even though the river below has calmed
Her eyes imply that her fight rages on.
She’s seeking to atone for all she’s done
Under her own crooked logic
Driven to appease the idol brooding in her fear.
So you remember this well:
No matter what her acts convey,
The impossible trick in this fox’s eyes
Is that of denying your value to her.