statement

In a proverbial way she stated
How the world was coming to an end
How the thoughts in her head were going to be heard
When all she needed was a friend

She was tormented by the dots in front of her eyes
She was silenced by those stares
So she sat there thinking to herself
Of tempestuous ways of returning those glares

She waited and she was patient
And she picked a perfect time
So she could catch everyone unaware
When she began speaking her mind.

Unable to juggle so many thoughts
She began to run out of breath quickly
Words tumbled out one after the other without much sense
“Beautifully grotesque grass fire blazing sickly!”

She stood there stunned
She stood there not believing
She stood there and she stood there
She stood there, not breathing.

They still walk by
Some skip over her decaying body, some pause to give a quizzical glance
Some pretend not to notice
Other’s whisper “poor thing never really had a chance.”