Why She Withered Away

I can't put the pen down.
Phrases, words...
A plethora of sequences run through my mind.
Never fleeting, never failing,
slowly, but surely.
Don't say this is a work of art-
No one knows what the future holds.
Mechanical lines and sub-cultured themes;
these faking rhyming schemes that don't mean a thing.
To me,
or to anyone.
For that matter, who would dare to compare my work to those of other fellow writers,
So intense,
So powerful,
Sending shivers down my spine.
She could never do that,
the pain in their eyes could never compare
to the fresh eyes she has.
Holding on,
Grasping on to whatever sense of sanity is left in her m ind.
She knows they know.
Her secrets.
And they will do anything to bring her down.
So she runs to find her own paradise,
And finds a pad and paper,
And writes,
Like invisible scars of far-off days.
How could she stir the hearts of others...?
No one knows.
But she still writes,
Waiting for the day of reawakening.
When everything will be alright.

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