Beautifully aloof
Bewitchingly broken
She climbs to the roof
Of her blank mind
This is a wasteland
Of silent, bitter grief
So grab her hand
Please and give her
Substance
Take a chance she
Wants to dance
But she is hesitant
Because she can’t
Be harmed again
Piercingly cold
Yet vulnerably warm
She wants to unfold
But this is untold
She’s stuck at the peak
This is a wasteland
She’s feeling a little weak
Yet doesn’t want to waste
Away in decay
So she stands up and jumps
Off of this dusty shelf
And back into
Herself