Ulterior Girl

 

She walks inside a shyness

I find hard to distrust,

yet harder to fathom.

She opposes my others,

who glisten and shine

with a glow of perfection.

Her life is written

in her arms with scars,

like heiroglyphic keys

to a shapeless existence.

 

She is followed

through doors.

Down roads.

Into bars.

By echoes of loneliness.

By secretive whispers

from unexplored chambers,

dogged,

and clinging to her with

a polarising, venomous clutch.

 

Eyes estranged

to the body of the world.

Hers is a country

the world doesn't recognise.

Her eyes the windows

the world finds opaque.

 

Yet still, there's a stir.

Those eyes of green

that contain the earth

and everything inside.

Her iris' a facade,

faded by life.

Nature she needs,

to tempt the naivety

of wandering stars

back into her eyes

to ensnare an energy.

 

Nature she needs,

to devour the winter

that envelops her heart.

To pierce it with Spring

that shall regrow her soul,

that will one day flourish

and bring transparency

back to her forlorn emeralds.

 

(Don't worry, baby,

it'll happen yet).