She has aged twenty five years
in five
the lines around her eyes
from too many nights
of crying
the downturned frown of her lips
from her love dying

Now she's ancient, centuries old,
the aftermath of sociopathy
being fake loved and discarded
has left her broken hearted

There's no filler for this space
there's no way to erase
the deeds of the takers
so she huddles in a dark cave
silently scribbling out her mistakes

loving the wrong ones
trusting in the wicked
it's a sticky situation
when the heart is pure
like children who love the hand
holding the stick that beats them

everything is gray
the wispy strands of hair
the wrinkled skin of her hands
the callouses on the tips
the false admiration leaving their lips

The blood has left her veins
It was drained by every lover
who ****** her dry
then left her in the pain
like raindrops can erase heartache
like the moon can glue the breaks

She's a cup, shattered on the pavement.
She screams she's hurting
They say "well don't."
as if sadness is a faucet that
can be set to drip so the pipes don't crack
she watches them disappear
because she's too sad

this is the trap
the liquid seeping into the concrete
as she weeps on her knees
scabbed from falling repeatedly

She's aged twenty five years
in five
Sometimes she wonders
if she's even still alive
or if she's watching a mirage
from a death realm that fakes being human
just like when she was

Nights spent quiet away from the hive
counting days until
the one she dies
hoping it goes quickly
even in her sleep
so she can bury
all the secrets she keeps

but for now its
comparisons and agitation
dismissive relations and aggravations
humans walking obliviously by
caught up with their own
uncomplicated lives
they press their heels
into flowers until they expire
or pick them to hold as they wither

She's aging sixty minutes
in one
and the process is agonizing
she didn't make this deal
to be alive while she is dying
in the rubble of the aftermath
she hears God laugh

v.k
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