With a frustrated sigh, she decided to wash her face,

The soap could seep through her flawed skin.
It could carry away with it the filth and the dirt that had gathered on her face through the day.
The gushing water and the bubbly soap could do wonders, but

Could the soap seep through her flawed mindset?
Could it carry away with it the desolation and the loneliness that had gathered in her heart through the day?
Her gushing passion and her bubbly persona could do wonders, but

She pulled her hair back with a frustrated sigh, and decided to wash her face.

Her bright brown eyes on the luminous Sun rested.
The mere prospect of a new day entailed excitement.
Up and down she jumped in pure juvenile mirth
This four year old was in love with the Universe.

'One day I'll be seventeen,' her colourful mind exclaimed.
'I'll be big and beautiful and grown up!'
The thought of the future made her eyes sparkle
The joy in those brown pools was untouchable.

Her sleep-deprived brown eyes on the luminous Sun rest.
The mere prospect of a new day makes her groan.
Up and down she jumps in pure frustration.
This seventeen year old is in war with the universe

'Never again will I be four,' her grey mind states.
She feels small and unattractive and worn down.
The thought of the future makes her eyes sparkle.
The teary fear in those brown pools is untouchable.

Every book has a last page, every song a last verse to sing.
Every sentence its full stop, every beginning its ending.
Every existence will one day cease to be,
In the inevitability of death, there is unity.

'Death is simply a beginning,' confidently some state.
'In death, there is nothingness,' others iterate.
But the lock of death in the living world has no key.
In the ignorance of death, there is unity.

In the hearts of some resides unwavering misery.
Others march on, donning costumes of pseudo-normalcy.
The actuality of their loss, still others refuse to see.
In the incoherence of death, there is unity.

Cinema, literature, poetry have ostensibly tried to explain,
With the knowledge directors, littérateurs, poets feign.
No living soul can grasp its intense incongruity,
In the incomprehensibility of  death, there is unity

She's a clumsy little human.
Broken beakers, test tubes,
Plates, glassware, door handles,
The antlers of that showpiece deer,
Her bed, her favourite pencil.

Through seventeen (and a half) years of clumsiness
The universe, it's always whispered to her
"However careful you might try to be
Sometimes things, they'll fall out of your clumsy hands
Never on purpose, no satisfactory reason
Leaving you with melancholy ruins.

Sometimes things, they can be fixed
With a little glue and a lot of patience
So fix them before they're lost and
Be ever more careful thereon.
But sometimes things, they can't be fixed
Not with glue nor with patience
And broken they will forever be
So sweep up the pieces gently and
Cast them away sans regret."

She's a clumsy little human.
Broken beakers, test tubes,
Plates, glassware, door handles,
The antlers of that showpiece deer,
Her bed, her favourite pencil,
Trust, hearts and friendships.

The candle flames, oh how they taunted.
Stubborn obstacles to her familiar darkness.
Mockingly swaying with the breeze,
Burning through her sanity; singeing her happiness.

As she toyed with the ashes with her slender fingers,
She stared at the flames till her wide eyes were blinded
Despite the despise she felt toward their existence,
Secretly, she liked their warmth.

In the inferno blazed painful memories,
There was a thin line between warmth and searing heat.
While her lips smiled, her eyes wept.
Never did he look into her eyes; never need he know.

She tried to put them out- a final weak attempt,
Oh how the flames taunted, how they jeered.
Watching them dance through the darkness of the night.
She knew she had to first extinguish herself.

A leaf swooped down from my overgrown mane
And embraced her lovely little frock-the hue of the rain.
Day after day she basked in my warmth, and I in hers.
The pages of a fairy tale flipped by tiny fingers.

A leaf swooped down from my plentiful mane
And embraced her long lustrous locks in vain.
As they danced, she blushed; the wind began to hum.
Prettier than my flowers young love did blossom.

A leaf swooped down from my sparse mane
And embraced their picnic spread- artistically lain.
With adoration-filled eyes, she beamed at her kin.
Twin infants danced around me; laughter and din.

No leaves prevailed on my naked frame.
Summer, spring, fall- were all now the same.
Branches that once swayed and loved her like their own,
Lay lifelessly still as they beheld her lonely gravestone.

'Twas weighing down her petite frame; rendering her weak.
Tugged at her very being; left her anguished and meek
'Out of sight, out of mind,' her rationale whispers everyday.
What happens, though, when she just can't look away?

She shields her face; turns her head in advance.
Ruthlessly judging herself, as she steals a discreet glance
As a mother warns her child, so her rationale intervened.
Yet, by the forbidden always tempted was the little fiend.

Her weak smile they see- no visible scars will they find.
Of the ever-raging battle; heart against mind.
Her feelings tore her open; the wrappings of a Christmas present
An empty box, laden only with pain and disappointment.

A closely guarded secret- it was hers and hers alone.
She sang herself to sleep, willed her heart to turn to stone.
She chose her words carefully lest the world should know.
Her long tresses moist from the tears on her pillow.