The fragile soul was holding the deep Atlantic.
Slithering around the corner of the year
jumping screaming dancing singing,
yet with a half written note....

Moving in to the outline of the extroverts
and fixed herself with the frame
she was holding a tale
with a mask behind her face.
Her eyes were holding the past the present the future,
and they thought they knew her well.
Behind the mask the stories secretly hanged;
tears were drying out,
the lips were pleading for a share of thoughts
the pains were screaming inside with
betrayal, sadness, violence, humiliation.
They thought they knew her well.....
perhaps the door has already been closed a long ago.

Akansha Barooah
© rare_thoughts2018