Elder Passion's Passing

Her eyes are sunken with the worry of the wasted

A superfluous of her head's hair in the bathtub's basin

A quiet poet with deafening thoughts

She wondered why she never learned what she was taught

Cellulite gathering near her thigh's scars

Her teenage acne still craters across her face

..that was one thing never harmed

Her potential became a stranger that she missed dearly

Is it death? Or is it motivation deterring?

Her hands a desert filled with spots of piled skin

The nails dirty such as her adultery sins

They were not hands of a writer, but rather a slave to the system

Stability sabotages her inner child's wisdom

Her yawns, excessive

Her aches, bold

She's aged but her progress stays in it's old mold

She no longer shapes it to fit herself

It wouldn't have very steady stature

She whispers for help

Always crumbling down at the first sight of a rapture

It terrifies her that that's her

As you can see by her scattered wrinkles

When she does get inspired

It never lasts

or it gets lethal

She now deems her passion as a potential blackened

By the cigarette smoke lingering out of her yellowed mouth bones

That she again inhales to make her stress go

but she's still summoned to a society salvaged by her disparity

she's no different than those she never wanted to be

So her love and her talent will sit on an empty page

she will close the dusty journal never to open it again

She'll make sure the burn is at fahrenheit 451

She'll throw it to the fags and then smoke another one

As her body devours itself

so will her dreams

Can you fully mourn something

if it never truly ceased to be?

Maggots will dine on her goal's flesh

She is not the earth, she will get no nourishment

Her ambition will decease with her

Her gravestone will only say

.. "BELOVED SISTER"