Freak to All That Pass
In the corner
She sat
A fading memory
A shadow
Day in and day out
An outcast
A freak
She was called
From those who hate
She looks to her hands
Avoiding the burning
Evil eyes
She looks away
From the ashes she and I call lies
She held a small journal
Rugged leather and old
The edges of the paper
Printed in faded gold
Words written by the million
Her feather pen races the black line
As Beethoven would stab the keys of his piano
Passion
Divine
Pages upon pages
For journals;
This year,
She’s filled nine
But aside from her habits,
In appearance,
She is stunning
So beautiful
Breath-taking
Crystal blue eyes
Where the black smoke around them lies
She always looked so unhappy, though
Miserable at that
She was killed the other day
By a rope and her thoughts
The rope was her murderer
Her broken heart was the knife
Her funeral was today
For I had attended
I visited her coffin;
Her bed of peace
Before she was grounded to the earth
Forever and always
She wore a white dress
Baby’s breath in her hair
I stood there before her
And there I just stared
She looked so beautiful
Though dead and cold
Her skin looked frozen
Stiff like diamond
Solid like gold
Then suddenly,
There was a glint;
Like a jewel or a gem
It rested under hand
Like a pearl in a clam
I lifted her cold fingers
