I remember the first time
My heart felt
Sick.
Sick for someone else.
Her face has faded from my
Memory
But not the feeling of my chest
Hollowing
For the first time.

Every pulse spent with her
Was like that of a fist
Hitting the head of a drum from
The inside.

Or like sinking.

A soft, crumbling
Concave.
Like fleeting footprints in
The sand of a bad
Dream.

I suppose it was pity, mostly.
Slumped with the stature of a
Vulture.
All crooked and
Insecure.
Of course my adolescence couldn't
Identify
With the terminology
Of such a foreign
Energy.

She wasn't alarming.

There was a subtleness to her.
She was like creeping
Quicksand.
Only,
I didn't know I was being drawn in
Further
Until the air became
Thick
To breath.

She wasn't evil.

There was a
Timidity
To her.
She radiated
Stagnancy.
Something I had never
Audienced before.

She was like the only
House
One finds at the
End
Of a road long
Forgotten
By civilization and
Laughter.
Broken and splintered from the Weight
Of buried burdens and
Contraventions
Of the white picket fenced
American
Dream.

She was like the figure one
Reluctantly
Forms in the
Dark
And her
Silence
Was the comforting thought that
Nothing
Is ever really there.

I know it's because of that
Forced
Reassurance
That she oozed the
Disregarded
Desperation
Of an
Unsolved
******.
The one tossed in a
Box and thrown on a shelf.

Overlooked.

To think of it
Now
I can't help but wonder if

The others saw her too.