There’s imitation in the air
A display of affection
Lost, in reproach
She hangs her head
And exhales a holocaust
The bitter wind
Isn’t blowing
Hard enough.
Shadows in this morning view
Drawing echoes on her face
Timelines of torments
Presentations of vanity
For this artificial world to see.
No reserves
--These wounds
Are naked
Salt from the shoreline
In scattering particles
Nesting in the deepest cuts.
She feels nothing
Apart from callousness
And abandonment.
The sun rises further
Piercing the semblance
Her face is faded
She buries it deep
In the sand.