Chills are sent down her spine.
The wind is vibrant in its movement.
It swishes and swirls.
She hurls.
As she is intoxicated.
The sweet smell of summer fills her nostrils.
The light of the moon makes her ill.
It makes her look dull.
She is a pocket symphony.
Many men have played her.
But not for long.
She stores her emotions in her pocketbook.
In her mirror.
She opens the case to her secret slowly.
She sees her mascara is everywhere.
Due to the tears.
Originally laughter.
Which turned the night into a self-indulgence.
They soon turned into tears of hatred.
They turned the night against her.
She can no longer see the beauty she once used to see.
Liar in the glass.
The fox from the brush jumps.
Like in a Hollywood ending.
She is not surprised.
For she is the mouse.
Fortunes fool in the shadow.
The screen door opens as a light turns on.
She can see the outline of a figure.
Her hero once upon a time.
She ignores him knowing he is looking for her.
As he tries to ruin her art of suicide.
She collapses into the grass.
Her dress consumes her like the wine once did.
She comforts the grass as though to say it will be all right.
She looks up unto the dark night.
The splotch in the sky distracts her.
She smiles as though to say I want my innocence back.
She sits up wishing the sea could swallow the sun.
Just so this moment could live on forever.