The fading face of what could have been

Another bridesmaid running down a grassy hill,
For some solitary will,
no one sees her dirty white dress in the sun
As she passes everyone,
missing a craving she never had; one more hope, one more fall
out of nothing at all

A box filled with defences and tired dreams,
always ripping at the seams; in a need for something more
The frayed ribbon waiting to be untied,
for someone to care what’s inside

She moves but nothing reacts,
potential holds back
Cast over everything, fresh air to breath, a new way to begin
Chance! release her from running on this forlorn track, her feet are tired and her mind uninspired

She’s stuck with her own permission, Nothing to throw away but so much to gain
Colours need to be perceived to exist, but her  dress floats all around like mist as she looks straight through
She needs to come alive

Her reflection is as clear as smoke in search of what others may see,
Her mind rusty from overworking reasons why,
is no one ever going to rescue her from the vast tide?
But disappointment is normality and is her only comfort in the evening sun

Faces of people allways crowd and smile, full glasses, spirits high
but when she’s on her own its never the same,
longing, a part of life’s game.

Distracted happiness, untraceable maps and screwed up notes are the chords that make her dissonant truth, her empty tune, to which she’s her own audience.