Still

There's a perfect stillness that overfills this space between her bones

She can't quite crack it, it's f*****g tragic;

She's sick of being alone

The disease lies in the specs of skin from grasps at the hopes of love

A reckless wonder of sin and slumber bringing shame from up above

But who's to care who's here or there for no one's here to stay

He's only sent to destroy the girl, leaving her weaker in his wake

& so her soul's split piece by piece with every passing day.

But what will it take to shake her awake?

What will it take to create-

what will it take to breath fresh air into the lungs of the girl

Into the girl who's trying to escape?

The life that she wants; it is possible.

The life that she wants; it exists.

The life that she wants; it is is hers to take-

So long as it's hers that she quits. 

© Copyright October 2016 Elizabeth Eberhardt All Rights Reserved

Reviews

[emmajoy]

Have read and read your intense string of words, wondering at their meaning, thinking and feeling this or that as i return to the start or the middle or the near desperate finish. I have an idea that there's something noxious being used that's traps the She . She needs something to make her escape, to live, to survive. Plus, she's aware that she's being mainpulated. Who the hell ever wants, begs, desires to live under someone else's thumb, rule.

Will return to read again. Meantime your words are strong and graphic, your emotions firmly planting thoughts and feelings. You touch then take words into another place.

The life that she wants; it exists.
The life that she wants; it is is hers to take-
So long as it's hers that she quits. ' '