Every morning is the same.

Drenched in regret, 

but showing no remorse,

She stares at the sky,

hoping to float away.

Her cigarette burns bright, 

the ash will crumble and fall.

like her soul, it hits the ground,

burnt, used, unwanted.

She leans over the balcony,

tempting fate to push her,

but it just laughs harshly, 

at her feeble attempt at escape.

Sickened, she empties the bag,

making lines of pain on the table. 

It poisons her body carefully,

Slowly, silently killing her.

She does not fear death.

It would be a welcome holiday,

releasing her from her cold body,

just another suicidal call girl.

Reviews

[Globy]

Pure poetry. She is not in a very nice mood. Its like looking for a voice or a shoulder to cry. Great pictures.
Well done!

Globy
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[Beck Louise]

Thank you! Appreciate it :D

[quixotic_rose]

Different and sad in a way. I wish i could just give the girl a hug and show her that life is better in a different perspective than from where she is looking but I can't. excellent write!

[Beck Louise]

Thank you!! :)

[Alex Vidmar]

This is definitely different. But I love it all the same. Well done Rebbie.

[Beck Louise]

Thank you :) appreciate it

[Alex Vidmar]

Anytime :)