Never Comes the Dawn

Again, and again, and again...
-
Sojourn to the morning
she greets the melancholy fog
with blankness
unrivaled by any.
-
Her eyes still see, but
they reflect the fog
like mirrors made of cerulean.
-
The paleness of her figure is testament
to the many long hours
spent looking in mirrors, desperately
searching her own face for
any likeness to another.
-
Another, with
long dark shadows and
ice blue adrenaline eyes and
that oh, so serious
condescending smile.
-
She used to hate that smile.
-
Wanted to scream, wanted to take, wanted to
break that smile. Now,
she would give anything
just to see it again.
-
To be pinned and scrutinized, and feel
like the foolish, helpless
child he once treated her as.