Her eyes are blue pools
of unfocused ice.
They have seen too much darkness
and felt too much pain.
Wavy hair the color of wheat
hangs in an unkempt field; she is a mess
of contradictions and a muddle
of mistakes.
Small hands, twist errant
straw-like strands in perpetual motion.
Her light-starved mind silently screams
in primal hues.
All color has been bled
from a life that is taking much too long.
There is no melody around her,
only static fills the air.
Alone she waits for the storms
to pass and the sun to break.
She dreams of warmth to melt
the wax that encases her heart.
How she longs to lick the tallow from her
fingers and feel the beat of something more.
So she waits to find the rhythm of the dance
she once knew before the rain.