Why is she so afraid?
The anxiety creeps closer with the disappearance of each sun.
Bashful, hesitant, Insecure.
Faking her way through life has become an art.
A dismembered starlet.
Her lips threaded closed.
A silent cinema.
She transforms into whatever you need.
A counterfeit for your pageant.
A master of disguise is where her confidence lies.
Not the nine to five.
Not Mrs. Jones.
She could function and not be marked as a deviant.
No one knows the discrepancy is on the inside…
The solitude of depression,
The anxiety as absolute as falling helplessly into a well.
Fantasies of Alice.
The clever suicidal ideations.
She throws her head back.
Oh, that wicked laughter.
A hiccup which interrupts her sobs.
And one ponders why she is misconceived.
It must be the Post Traumatic Stress.
When the wrecking ball crashed through,
It uprooted any remaining life in her eyes.
The white elephant.
Stubbornly parked inside her mind,
A cunning persuasion halting any movement, breath, or spoken word.
Hypnotizing her to be afraid of the big bad world.
Paralyzing her from the neck down.
Her captivating eyes which shift from green to blue.
They rapidly canvas the crevices engraved in the ceiling.
Electrical currents that cannot find their way out of her veins.
They hunt like wildfire through her body for any sign of life.
They return to her mind bringing only snapshots of her afflictions.
Sufficient to feed on until the sun sets again.
She will rise inside a new cinema.
A new disguise.
She seductively examines you.
She rips the threads from her lips and asks…
“Where shall we go today?”