Lost.

vile is her exterior
she shows to all
creeping to frighten
yet ever so demure

festing black debris surround her
pale white skin plays down her pretty
countenance of peace she emits
life of disarray and cold

deserted life and alleyway
her sanctuary of absent friends and family
oblivious, but purposefully, she is to the defect
it's obvious nothing is left

cul de sac are her eyes

lost in the serenity of her touch
lost in the song of her lullaby
lost in the calming of her lips
lost in the eternal peace of her desirable mind
lost in the alley, shes created.

lost.

in the alley, that created her.

Absolution.

her hands firmly clasped against it
green stalk signifying the age
the inevitable moment arrives
as her blood trickles down her knuckles

painting the petals with her own
words going astray in time
amused she is with it
as the drops of dew dilute

i cup my hands in exasperation
saving every drop from contamination
they hit my palm a lighter shade
my tears reaching them as they do

it is as if she willfully paints my tears
smiling at my thoughtful frown
offering me existence unto her
inviting my mortal sin, of being

she eases the grasp on the stalk
as she eases her grasp on the sinner
she takes a step backwards as she smiles
and leaves me haunted by her

you stay kneeling on the dry ground
puddle of life in palms of thy hands
lost in the rippling of the moment
painting, once again, the path for another

she will remain timeless

the penance will be brought upon

beg the ground she treads upon,

for absolution.