Naked Feet

I don't quite remember when I wrote this one...but I do remember how I was feeling when I did. It still stands.

Like bare hands
and colour coated fingernails,
with naked feet this grown girl stands
while hair strands snap and back bones wail
sifting to and fro following candy trails.

Craving, not food, but taste,

knowing not how hunger actually feels,
just the pain of starvation as her body goes to waste.
A permanent ache that nothing really heals,
it’s just skin, hair and nails; it peels, peels, peels.

 

Through carefully white locks and skin kissed by sun,

through aquamarine irises and a tantalized soul within

there isn’t anything that can be done.

Just endure and hope forgetfulness might soon begin

and wonder how simplicity turned into the greatest sin.

 

But with time and growth comes realization.

Revealing hair that is thinner and fading out eyes,

looser skin, splitting ends, frailer hands; degradation.

Learning to use fewer words to impart more lies,
to let go, to live up and that everyone dies.

 

So say wicked things those with switched-out morale,

with take-back wishes and rewound hearts,

with splitting migraines; pulsating pain for all.

Fragmenting lives and out of place feet

and everything’s just completely falling apart.