The hour is late. She never seems to notice the ticking of the clocks anymore. The sound has ebbed into a dull thunder of noises. Antediluvian methods. Time never leaves. Not in her mind. She was loved. All the ones she thought to love never made her out to be anything. She could be on top of the world, but to them, that moment of her happiness couldn't exist with their own. So they jostle her back into the box. Without the bottle. Without the cancer sticks. Without a breath of air. Without any hope of life. Left alone. Being better than her was not problematical. Everyone was. They reminded her of it. She was left in a state of turmoil. No need in believing in herself. He lied to her. He made her think she was worth something. But apparently not. Deceptively, if she were to be forgotten or if she were to be left alone waiting by the phone or window for someone to show up, it never mattered. She was "a forgettable". Nothing new. No one had to inform her. She was a doll sitting in the yard night after night, ignorant and naive. She was allowed to be left there and have no innocent child to love her for the doll she was. The doll would still remain in hope. But rather than being seen as a toy that brought the child joy, night after night of sitting in the rain and soaking in the sun makes it worthless. It becomes pale and dirty. And it then is the child whom throws the beloved forgotten toy away. Maybe she did have confidence. Maybe she did have hope. But he continued to break her, not he...they. She was inferior to all. Worthless. Left alone. She cries alone. When she leaves...no one calls. When she's happy, no one sees. Her heart beats out its last rhythms. No hope here. Just the broken, bitter end.
 Made27 · Thu Jun 30, 2005 @ 04:10am · 1 Comments |
