Poetry

Her Flickering Strength.

Slowly it crept through the open wounds,
Sucking the life out of her.
Her dark, dull eyes shadowed with under eye bags,
So devoid of life they almost looked demonic.

Frown lines sprinkled all over her young face,
Making her look so old and tired of her mere existence.
A mess of hay-like black hair going past her waist,
Looking unkept and unmaintained for months.

Pale, frail arms splayed with blood clots,
Long and skinny fingers extended with chipped, dirty nails.
Her lips parched and cut all over,
Still spread into a sliver of smile to believe she's fine.

A soul so strong enclosed in a body so fragile.
Held back by restraints; physical and mental.
Locked away in a room so dark and lonely,
You could see the flames of hope extinguishing; slowly and regretfully.