The Dance

Sadness sweeps across her heart
Like Death's cold embrace.
A numbness seeps through her veins,
Slowing down every last beat.

Dark, copper eyes stare blankly,
Long dark hair spread out in abandon.
The dance of death plays out,
Its final steps throughout her body.

She seeks refuge in a mind so confused,
But finds only pain and hurt and turmoil.
Wandering lost and seeking warmth,
Finding only self loathing and cold ashes.

She dances across the plain of depression,
Like a puppet on a string, being pulled in all directions.
Words of warmth and happiness come from his lips,
But he holds the strings afar and adrift.

"Pull me in and rescue me," she cries.
"I will soon my love," he shouts back.
She hangs her head in misery,
Her hair a blanket around her face.

The dance continues, one pulling,
The other pushing, in all directions.
She dances across the plain of depression,
Like a puppet on a string, being pulled for eternity.
--by Arwyn