The city's ubiquitous form floods the room
Room filled with the scent of molding tea leaves
Leaves fluttering to the ground in dead clusters never again to bloom
Again, she sits, and stares and waits.
She can't place those forgotten words
Words uttered from a sharp tongue
Tongue coiled and forked, refusing to move on towards
Towards the words that have long been unsung.
The fall brings soft breezes
Breezes that sweetly cut skin
Skin chapped and sore as the ground slowly freezes
Freezes and crackles in the gray landscape she's in.
She's lost the path to escape
Escape amongst the fictional friends she accumulated
Accumulated within the world she can mold and reshape,
Reshape a place safe from the world she has loathed and hated.
Her homeland no longer feels like a home, no more bus tokens to use
Use to find her home, now somewhere else in a foreign land
Land open to those who see the violets and blues
Blues that aren't the color of the bruises on her hand.
She falls and stumbles just to break free
Free from the uncreative society
Society that does not support her future to be
Be the opposite of dull, the only priority.
Tired of the suffocating grays
Grays and blacks and tiring olive greens
Greens that stem from depression polluted days
Days of thick air and heavy eyes hidden behind wire mesh screens
Tired of this constant bereft feeling
Feeling the lack of self confidence
Confidence pressed down into kneeling
Kneeling before the monotone populous, gaudy opulence.
false security, the blanket covering this place
Place in which she shields herself
Herself, a fragile broken doll with an atrabilious face
Face covered by a scar of vermillion lace, a porcelain doll on a shelf.