confessions of a never ceasing mind
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2004-05-13 06:19:36 (UTC)

the last time

She is weary and battle worn
tired of the games tired of the charades tired of facades
to pretend that everything is fine
to pretend that she is calm

Her bruised and battered wings are folded against her body
her feet dusty from the dreams that have turned to dust
on the ground, long dead
She is holding her heart in her cupped palms,
its small shattered form held protectivly to her.

her tears have left clean streaks over the gray dust
her knees dusty, her clothes torn and ragged
her heart leaving crimson tears between her fingers,
trailing down her arms

this is the last time she will extend her heart
in the name of so-called-love
the last time she will try and let herself go
the last time she will allow emotions to rule over
good common sense

Her eyes are cold but clear for the first time in a long
her heart is heavy in her hands,
jaded, torn, and now thrust back away where it will not be
she feels empty, and dead, sore and hurt

her life and laughter turn cool then cold then finally
her smiles fade, her countenance becomes one of cool
she is unreachable, untouchable, safe and secure in her
tower by the sea