The Warden

You see what her eyes cannot. 

A hand falls upon her and touches bone, yet it sends no signal to her brain. 

Finger tips have eyes but they’re blind.

She has skin that is hard like bone. 

Yet she still fails to see what you see. 

She lives inside a prison to which she governs. Like a Warden, she holds the keys. 

You can’t save her. 

In a heap she lays. Her knees knees pulled closely toward her chest. 

Dare not she cry as she lays there scared. 

Nobody, not even you can take those keys from the hand, attached to a wrist with a protruding bone. 

The more the world disappoints her and breaks her down, the stronger the Warden becomes. 

She sees her reflection in a tall dark mirror, each day. 

Her eyes see, what her beautiful mind does not. 

Failure, skin and then bones. 

The jailer inside her head, sees a prisoner. 



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