She’d grown accustomed to the stagnant air

Begrimed ink suffused her hands with blotched lines

Struggling to reclaim pedestals stripped bare

Blindly adhering to fallacious signs

 

Of her struggles they remained unaware

Fooled by feigned laughter and dejected smiles

Their little angel imprisoned in snares

Her cautiously restrained tears beguiles

 

Belligerent thoughts lie, “She needs repair” 

Weaving their way around her desolate island

Populated with Acrimonious tendencies 

And Terraces of despair and desperation

 

She’d grown accustomed to the feeling of fatigue, 

Arrows shot through Achilles heels and exploited fears

Begging the fates to change her destiny with those shears

Crestfallen on her knees

 

The mask she wears deceives

Unrelenting force of false fantasies flooded by folklore

and blurred expectations in the minds of the onlookers

Who saw only through their stupor