It’s where she lives.
It’s where she calls home.
She knows it’s her job
To keep it in its place.
To maintain all forms of order
Lest chaos take the race.
Makes its home in her.
It’s where it lives.
Tightening tendrils suffocating her heart.
Driving her mind into madness.
Promising her to be the Suffering Saint.
Pours her out like a vessel.
She knows she’s in control.
In every way it should be.
Holds the secrets to completeness
Is the expert on happiness.
She sees the world in a perfectly cast frame;
Finely crafted steel formed
And I’m always rights.
It’s why she’s lonely.
Why she feels so out of control.
Why her misery bleeds over
Onto to the hands of those around her.
Taking them all into her suffering.
Driving out all who would welcome her.
She doesn’t know brightly colored welcome signs.
Just simple black and white lonely.
It’s all she has left to offer you;
A place where you can be lonely too.