Born with a riddle
Riddled with a life
A missing piece in her ever lasting puzzled
Impatiently waiting for her chance to rise
above over and under
Unfortunate portrayal of cruel ironic filthy humor
Her pulse is vibrant but her pain is infinite
Open wounds healed into scars that remain like bullet wounds filled with shards of glass
She lives in a future that remains in the past
The sand in her hour glass is fading
Thoughts invading
Crippled chain
Distorts the brain and survival becomes hard to sustain ,
the damage to to her heart bleeds the black from out her veins
Only like her tears filled her eyes with shame
Her existence is holy, but God is not to blame
She didn't come from the heavens but the angels handed her down her name
Others die with broken wings
But she is different
She is not the same
In the end we all die with our own 15 last seconds of fame
What is lost in the current
Reignite passions, fortune is reborn in the flicker of forgotten flames

© Christopher j. Jarman