Behind the clouded streams
Of mascara and distancing dreams,
She barricades her soul,
And slips like static into the whole.
...
His favorite color, blue
Stains my irises.
It casts itself
Unto my once white tunic
...
I sit pensively
Alone on the futon,
Waiting to take him home,
But she already has.
...
Like a fish on hook
She reels me in
I fight for my freedom,
But the line gets tighter,
...
Hearts and heads
Like parachutes
Work best when inflated,
Open to break the fall.
...
The freedom of spirit
Will never be contained,
But the freedom of heart
...
Superwoman Becomes Mediocrematron
Behind the clouded streams
Of mascara and distancing dreams,
She barricades her soul,
And slips like static into the whole.
Just a face in the crowd;
A deal with death avowed.
Erratic impulses devour
Her faith in her final hour.
No longer can she comprehend
That God's will can amend
Her abbreviated term.
Thus, extending her foot from the ledge's firm,
She dives into the shadows.