Protensive State Of Melancholy

Here She lay, in the black of the night, quiet melancholy music playing beside her pillow. Her inner confidence that she had earlier some how managed to muster , has now ran and hid, her sad, self hatred rearing  it's ugly head.. mulling over painful memories in her head, her heart clenching in her chest. Hot tears rise, pooling in the corners of her eyes, closing her eyes causes the tears to stream down her cheeks and into her pillow case on one side, and towards her llips on the other. Breathing shallowly in between silent sobs , eyes closing tighter as the pain in her heart intensifies , her thoughts showing no mercy. A twisting feeling aching in her stomach, a feeling of mourning and grief washing over her taking complete control. Earlier in her day , determined was she, to let roll the harsh words off of her shoulders, feeling mildly confident and strong pushing them to the back of her mind. At the end of the day, her loved ones and thankfully enemies alike are deep in slumber. She is on her own now, just her, left alone to deal with pain inflicted upon her by persons who will never give a second thought to what words were said, lashing her heart, her mind, her soul. Now she lay aguishly, open wounds from years, days, minutes passed, memories, thoughts that leave her broken, her confidence, self worth, and hope , shattered into minuscule pieces never to find their place again. For once ones heart is shattered time and time again, the pattern of what once was, now indistinguishable. Not even the smartest mind and craftiest hands could possibly replicate. 
A place that was once whole, and warm, slowly emptied, now bare, and cold. She brings her knees closer to her chest, and her chest closer to her knees, attempting to guard any further blows to her already gaping wound. In the midnight black she can escape from
The shadows, as the darkness surrounding her mimics the darkness from within her soul. In the early ante meridian, Free to unfurl her emotions, no one to question her or misunderstand. When dawn rises from the darkness the exterior facade commences along with it. With people expectant of a show, the need to bewail and weep is no longer acceptable, hovering but just below her skin. 
Ewalkerc Ewalkerc
22-25, F
2 Responses May 9, 2012

Haha thanks.. No I've never thought of it . Maybe I should

Holy chit your amazing at writing poems! Ever thought of that as a career?? Im sure you could do it at home