In the cold light of a cloudy morning she was ripped upright
in her bed,
blinked in confusion at the seeming calm of the muted
She shivered as her shirt slipped past her shoulder down her
and the cold hard truth of an ancient reality slammed through her soul.
The shivers that wracked her body did not come from the
chill that crept through the glass,
but from the bruised reflections that were still stamped on
the shadows that threaded through her vulnerable mind
and exposed her conscious to the heedless self-destruction
she so willingly succumbed to.
She draws up her knees, folds her arms around her legs,
drops her head into her arms and yields to these
...lets them slash deep into her flesh, lets them tear apart
and with closed eyes relive every dark and tarnished need
to which she’s surrendered.
The tirade runs on and on, choking her, but she does not
blink away a memory,
does not shy away from facing all that darkness throws her
‘til at last it started weakening, fading slowly into gray
before a grateful stillness settles upon the disorder.
The mirror cast her reflection, she is sitting proud and
a veil of dark hair hanging down her back as are yesterdays bad dreams.
She is facing towards the east, towards a light that has broken
bathing her face with a gracious touch on this lonely road to absolution.