Left behind by the sunset,
she calmly waits by moonlight.
Impervious to these moments of regret.
Nothing but ashy trees and frozen sky insight.
The wind scratches at her mirage of perfection,
hammering away her frosted composure,
working to betray her careful illusion.
A winter’s force, hellbent on exposure.
Curls unwind to reveal an outraged ocean.
Brittle skin crumbles with contact,
a new crack revealed with every motion.
Nothing meaningful is left intact.
Stranger’s hands rummage through your fragments,
hunting for the faults you refuse to see.
Yet there is no one left to listen to your laments,
except for those as heartless as you pretend not to be.
Let your secrets fall on the ears of deaf mice.
How long before you bear what you owe?
No apology nor prayer could undo your vice.
December stars will uncover all your hidden woe.
