the look on her face,
she shows no worry.
as her hair falls out,
and she becomes weary.
death is certain,
but she fears of nothing.
"bald is beautiful,"
she'll say so hopeful.
but what lies in her eyes,
she knows there lies.
her age defies her,
and her eyes are fading.
She lets out a puff of air,
pulling out the last handful of hair.
repeating to herself,
it will all end soon,
maybe not today,
or tomorrow,
but soon
YOU ARE READING
Lost & Found
PoetryMy inspiration comes from love and hate, And my poems are sparse and over the place. Beginning with the pain in a broken heart, To the love I painted in my art. Thoughts run constantly in my mind, They slip so easily through my fingers with time. So...
