She

She was like a rose;
Delicate yet enchanting. A luscious, silky blanket
of colour, had tinged auburn hair and eyes
almost gold with glistening flickers of green.
She was young and sweet, so heavenly
suffocating you'd find yourself in a dream.
The most beautiful rose you'd ever seen.
But all roses have thorns. Miniscule daggers at
the heart; the kind that shatters it so much that
in the end, there is nothing else to break.
And she was broken.

She was like a story;
Foreshadowing exhilarating adventures, selling
secrets and telling lies.
She was a mystery to most, but held the most
exciting smile. A winner, of course.
Following a plot so exuberant, it was a fantasy.
Places unheard of, people unseen.
But all stories have a hidden truth. The truth no
one wants to tell; no one wants to cut the yarn,
else they ruin the tale. The dark concealing of a
world so unknown, it was the equivalent to
imaginary thoughts.
And she was the imagination in their heads.

She was like a photograph;
Through the lens of a camera, the beautiful art
we see.
It wasn't changed to look desirable, but was the
pure creation of just a click. Holding maybe
memories, or of those yet to come. She was a
still image with a box of exploding thoughts.
Some would say she was just the reflection of
the world. But she was more than that.
Like a photograph; she carried both truths and
lies, lurking in the shadows behind the big tree.
She had a past, was the present, set the future.
But all photographs are just snippets of the real
world. Better yet, fake.
They are just mere squares with a scene set,
hinting the coming and bearing memories.
And she is just a memory.

It was tempting enough;
with a father who didn't want her, and a mother
too sick to even say 'I love you',
The bathroom door creaking open, the drawer in
the room filled with prescriptions.
It was tempting enough to leave her life behind.
She was sinking. Sinking fast. And she was near
the bottom.
But if she was already that far, it was not a
felony to carry on plunging.

TheMostCreative ™