Week 13, Title: Unlit
One step outside and the world will burn,
A lesson none should have to learn,
So she sits in this tower,
Eschewing this power,
Lets them call her strumpet, vain, irrelevant.
The fog is white- her time is figures in the distance,
Four walls and a singular tumbler of red wine,
The world pulls away at her touch,
This lead-plated gold of her self,
She is a footnote.
She holds up this stony imperfection to the light,
They never saw her courage not to fight,
Patience waits for no one,
So tried and tired, she is undone,
Capillaries shine, a tree in her eye.
The fire is orange- her dreams are balloon tethers,
One window and a crimson stained wrist,
She wants to be outside of her being,
This lining paints itself dark, rooting,
She is forgotten.
She whispers at voices in her head,
Better than having others instead,
She chips away,
Flakes of grey,
Seeking herself.
A lesson none should have to learn,
So she sits in this tower,
Eschewing this power,
Lets them call her strumpet, vain, irrelevant.
The fog is white- her time is figures in the distance,
Four walls and a singular tumbler of red wine,
The world pulls away at her touch,
This lead-plated gold of her self,
She is a footnote.
She holds up this stony imperfection to the light,
They never saw her courage not to fight,
Patience waits for no one,
So tried and tired, she is undone,
Capillaries shine, a tree in her eye.
The fire is orange- her dreams are balloon tethers,
One window and a crimson stained wrist,
She wants to be outside of her being,
This lining paints itself dark, rooting,
She is forgotten.
She whispers at voices in her head,
Better than having others instead,
She chips away,
Flakes of grey,
Seeking herself.