It's been a while now since her addiction last lead her to her bedroom;
It's time for another fix.
The cards and the flowers aren't enough to substitute the joy in the box under her bed,
but she would do anything to be rid of the voices in her head.
Her body is wearing down, like the trees weep in the winter,
and she's feeling more alone, now than ever.
Her eyes are still vibrant, beautiful, and alive.
If only she would look at herself.
Once.
Or maybe twice.
Another wishes that he could see what she sees,
just out of curiosity of how she looks through her own eyes.
He watches her throw herself around,
and he's always there when she feels like breaking down.
Another question arises amongst the many,
but he decides not to ask,
yet in his head he's thinking,
"Why does she wear this mask?".
Question un-answered,
he heaves a small sigh,
and lies down beside her.
He'd give anything to know what goes on inside her.
He'd do anything to make her happy,
but the box under her bed is over-stayed company.
Her eyes keep crying,
and inside, she's dying.
She searches herself for a way to re-live this life.
No doubt if she could,
she most definitely would,
in hopes that this box would be gone for good.
Wishes remain only words,
and life seems a little less perfect than she knows,
And every single day,
her addiction slowly grows.
One more time,
She falls farther down the line.
He would do anything to steer her away from her back door out of life.
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