vii.

I have always felt separate, somehow.
Yet solitude has never been a source of pain until
I felt the sting of pity in your eyes—
For you watched a kaleidoscope of fireworks
explode in color all around me
while I faded into darkness.

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My Dear Friend

She is an old soul,
Her eyes dark with tar and hard with age,
Heart buried under years of rain.

She is a trapped soul,
A present wrapped in a bow
Strung too tight to inhale, exhale.

She is a true soul,
Rising from lies in the dark,
A brilliant star on an empty stage.

She is a lost soul,
Eyes scanning the horizon for help—
I am here for you, always.