Sitting in a pool of her own tears, she still waits for It.
Every minute of the day, and the next, and the rest.
No one sees her waiting, they never notice the rivers she has mournfully constructed.
Why would she wait, what’s worth all the pain and time?
She would explain it, but they can't, won't comprehend.
They can't see the lies she has lived, or the loss she has met.
They can't see the scars, the ones she used to hide.
The ones she used to hide until she realized she herself, invisible.
They can't read her mind or her heart.
They can't even read what she's written!
The tortured words that bleed from her veins and through her pen,
The words in the book she lives in.
The only thing that holds the truth,
The book, the existence of her very soul.
Through the pages her life unfolds
All her secrets, never told.
Her plea's for forgiveness, her last breath of sanity.
The pieces of her shattered heart all glued to the pages of the book,
Her book, Her soul.
Every minute of the day and the next, and the rest waiting for someone,
Someone she herself doesn't even know.
Crying in the distance, drowning in her own tears.
In her trembling arms she clings to the book for dear life.
She clings to the book, her book, her soul.
The pages her only friends,
The ink her own blood,
The words..her only truths.
She clings to the book, her book, her soul for dear life,
While in the flood of her own tears waiting for someone she doesn't know.
Never giving up and never moving on.
Waiting for someone to find her.
As she’s waiting the tears come quicker, the rivers reach greater distances.
She's running short of pages,
She is almost out of blood,
Her mind is full of secrets,
But still no one has come.
The last space, the last word, her last hope..
The last tear has left her eye,
As well as the last crimson drop from her pen.
The waiting wasn't a waste of time,
But she was still alone in the end. |
