glass slipper | poetry

waltz with a ghost | part one

tear-stricken hands retract 

fingertips bestrewn with dust

dust that bears memories 

cruelly contained between the walls 

of a mahogany frame 

which, behind the grime

was mercilessly polished 

as though to say 

that the echos of the past

 the mere impressions 

in the grand scheme 

of this void that we call home

were never there in the first place 

bloodshot eyes stare numbly 

at the taunting ink

forever cast into the agonising quintessence 

of somebody 

who is simply harder to see than most 

porcelain cheeks pull up

into a broken smile 

ignoring the bitter signs 

of her crippling affliction

that had slid down

from eyes that endlessly lamented 

the demise of the once-seen sparkle 

that resided in her soul

to desert lips 

dried, along with the desire to exist

mirroring the trails of rain

that trickled, carefree

down the dusty windowpane 

that she rested? by

externally, she rested

internally, she writhed 

little by little 

her soul seeped out 

dripping from her face 

splashing onto the glass cage

that oppressed a million memories 

bordered by a mahogany wall

which she held 

in a shaking hand