-The A Team-
the tears trickle not without remorse
down her once so youthful face,
her hand reaches up in vain
hoping for little else but
to have them erased
it's another unknown place,
just painstakenly full
of not one warm, familiar face
the light burns her eyes
and as she covers them without thought,
she comes to realize
through all these strange places
she has come to be a character
her former self would whole-heartedly despise
a blanket is her only shelter from the brisk December frost
though none of this matters-
she takes her post at the train station
with the same lingering thought;
this is an illusion
not all is lost
the people pass her by easily
what with her jacket and lone newspaper pile
she is not much to see
alone she feels in a world
consumed by overpowering greed,
a selfish lust for money
and among all other things,
she is nothing but a speck of dust
time passes hastily
similar to a bandit in the dead of night
while she is stuck on the street,
praying and hoping
to somehow deal with the life-long grief
her life is on pause
as she gazes at the light stained roads
ahead of her
she must ask God
for a certain, unnamed cause
the reflection in the mirror
is what she has always been raised to fear;
black rimmed eyes,
the simple silhouette for an unknown number
of tears
she takes a deep breath without a hitch,
gliding swiftly through the night
knowing that the unsettling rythm of her heart
says what she cannot;
nothing will turn out alright
headlights nearly make her blind,
the knowledge of the shadow in the car
slowly makes her panic
for her cannot truly be too kind
it does not matter now;
do or die as they always have the nerve to say
her blood itches with
a burning addiction-
this is the only way
despite the malicious smirk
that hangs from her plush lips
and the way she has come to force the
sway of her hips
this is not what she wants
but the regret cannot be anymore silent,
it merely creeps to the back of her mind
to do nothing but whisper and taunt
enough is enough,
before long she has grown the courage to leave,
her lungs have grown heavy,
making it harder and harder
to breathe
shame courses through her,
there's not much else she can bare to feel;
the payment is passed from one hand to another,
leaving little for mind to infer
the little white packet
snarls from the dip of her palm
and as she rips it open,
her mind is sent to an unknown place
neither wild nor calm
her heart thuds rapidly
the smoke wafts as a silent, poisonous killer
for all she was ever good for was a
short-lived, one night thriller
for a final time she falls,
unconsious to the bed;
maybe up in the glory of heaven
she'll make a better angel
when she's finally dead
