Her nights were sleepless,
Her eye bags were deeper,
Her nightmares were formidable,
Her soul was gone.*

Her blade was sharper,
Her voice was silence,
Her weight was lighter,
Her sleeves were long.

Her cries were painful,
Her tears were feelings,
Her hands were scarred,
Her heart was tormented.

*Her face was sunken,
Her eyes were dried,
Her lips were blistered,
Herself was lost.

Purple and blue and black
fade to yellow and green.
Sickly marks marring
pale as moonlight skin.
There are so many bruises,
I fear that even a golden soul
has been blackened beyond healing.

Little angel of stone, weeping raindrops
As your gaze ever down
Permanent,
Transfixed,
Paralyzed
By what is seen the white, just
The white ever bright. Your
Wings will not release, not free
You from this gaze. It is a posture
Of which you never move, and you
Cry tears of raindrops. As below wanting
To hold onto that out of cradles reach
You want to avert this
Perception,
Appearance,
Seeing
What lays before you, this nestled
Shell of empty white, you watched
As life was breathed, till stillness
Was birthed in this place, ever gazing
As what was faded away. Now there is a
Little
White
Angel
beneath you, gazed upon fragile white
Bones of innocence, lost in a place
Not fit for the living but know this fixture
Beneath your gaze is still. You weep raindrops
On to this still white that rests below.

I refused to be chained
Up by my past
But the walls I built
Imprisoned me instead