The scarlet letter

Shards of glass all around me,

An eye streaked with tears,

Dark mascara staining the bloodless cheek

Bright red lips silently trembling.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free.

 

 

A heart that beats woefully,

Betrayal and incomprehension weighing it down.

A mind lost to a hurricane of thoughts,

Fragmented memories and frightening scenes.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

Voices outside my head talk to those inside,

Caught in the crossfire I lie unable to move.

My lifeless hand with that scarlet A looks up at me,

A pool of blood and the ravings of a madwoman.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

The whiskey bottle and my pen, beacons through the fading vision,

And I write on that paper. Ink. Blood. Tears.

Your scornful words, your despising words,

They find my language incomprehensible.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free.

 

 

It was base of me to have lived my youth,

When it is honourable for you to overlook heinous crimes?

It was selfish of me to have danced in merriment and give in to hopeless abandon,

When you scared innocence out of your heart?

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

I blame you not! In my letter, I write of my soul

The endless ocean, the crashing waves,

The unyielding desert, stillness and silence.

The night sky, each light, a smile, a tear from my lonely life flicker.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

For my soul is untouched like a new born babe.

The dignity of my body, lost to your talk.

Enslaved my freedom, chained to that look of disdain.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

You see me for who I am but don’t comprehend,

I am freer than a bird, I soar higher than an eagle.

My story, not scandalous as you claim, it is but like the sky.

warmth of a sunny day, cloaked in darkness of a moonless night.

 

 

I can’t sit still, for soon I die;

In my ashes I shall be free

 

 

One sheet of paper, smudged at places,

All there will be, this is my memory.

 

 

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