Mockingbird smiles, glimmering eyes and feathers soft,
All wings and claws and a sharp beak.
She sings no songs,
Murmurs no sweet melodies.
She cackles and screams,
Wicked and dark,
Twisted like paper tossed to the flames.
She's madness incarnate,
Desperation clings to her like cobwebs and mist,
She's always running away from the past,
Too afraid to let anyone close,
So terrified of being forgotten,
She never lets them know her.
Weak willed and bitter,
A cynic, a pessimist,
She's broken but never lets him see.
She's afraid he'll turn away,
That he won't understand.
She reaches for him,
Yet stops before she can even graze him.
She's ashamed of herself,
Of her insecurities.
She clings to trivial things,
Comic book dreams,
Stories splayed in fictional splendor.
She rambles because it keeps her from spilling truth,
Like fountains from battered lips.
She wants touch,
Honesty,
Something real.
She doesn't care if it's perfect.
She just longs for real,
For something lasting.
Her longing makes her always bitter.