A Living Death


How I long to see her face again
Smiling with delight.
I don’t even know how long it’s been
Since her eyes shined bright.

I still can hear her cheerful laugh
Echo in my mind,
Urging me to be even half
As genial and kind.

I admire how she always seemed
So nurturing and good.
By all, she truly was esteemed
For doing what she should.

Call it virtue, call it trust,
Call it what you want.
For, I know she was more than just
a scrupulous debutante.

Underneath that masquerade,
Was a girl who would convey
That life was merely one big charade
She didn’t want to play.

She pictured an internal version
That the world preferred.
Changed by this new conversion,
Alack, she was interred.

Now she has caused me upmost pain
Through no fault of her own,
For she succumbed to mental strain,
Leaving me alone.

And how it tortures me to see
The schism of our souls.
The path connecting her to me
Is like a tunnel with no holes.

Not a day goes by where I don’t think
Of the girl I used to know.
I stare in the mirror above the sink,
And tears start to flow.

How come gazing into my eyes
Is a clone of whom I’ve lost?
Who knew wearing this ignoble disguise
Would come at such a cost?

Oh, what I would sacrifice
For her story to carry on.
I now must pay the ultimate price
Because, alas, that girl is gone.

The clouds give their just review,
Concurring as a whole,
And I am then sentenced to
A living death without parole.

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