Crestfallen

She doesn’t bother to stir,
She doesn’t bother to stir.
What would be the point?
Dawn and dusk come,
Just like shackles on a jailbird.

It’s not that it’s a new day,
But another day; she see’s.
She’s tired of the ever-growing turmoil,
Like an accumulation of a blood clot in her vein;
All resulting in the same outcome:
The reaper.
Simply shattered.

She had dreams to help her
Stay a float.
Dreams during her wakeful state.
Dreams of how one day she would be noticed.
Dreams of Love.
And dreams of those dreams replaying in her head.
Too bad she was just a fantasist.
Reveling in her Reverie.

It’s an everyday occurrence that words are shot.
But wounds grow if not attended to;
And she was slowly crumbling.
Pride kept her from shattering in those battlefields.
She just couldn’t show weakness.
It’s what they wanted.
Down and discharged.

She won’t admit she’ll forever be miserable at best.
She’s rotting away from the inside.
Where the perpetrators don’t perceive they’re devouring her alive.
No one can save her from her very own abolition but herself.
They say knowledge is power;
If only she understood about her very own wall.
“A lost cause.” she would say.
If consciously in cessation.