she wrote herself in a page <br />she's the hands on her face quieting down the chanting of her years: <br /> <br />life's a cut on the wrist and its beauty's a shroud <br />an elusive mirage you hunt down like a fraud <br /> <br />she minded herself like a grave <br />her meager ration of calm <br />its her balm for her psalms of unhappened goodbyes and its mirror that is herself <br /> <br />this could be indelibly sweet if not for her chains <br />forever present in her eyes to block the sun's rays <br />this could be her one sweet goodbye if not for the haste <br />of her embittered hands and her tired teary gaze<br /><br />comatose<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/she-wrote-herself-in-a-page/
