Shell

There she walks, with a word or two,

Her face is hidden within her sleeves,

She utters many words, that they don't know,

She says a prayer to the night that creeps.

There she comes with sad closed eyes,

There she talks in a cordless sound,

She feels hollow even in her disguise,

And only cries, when nobody is around.

Along she comes with a torn dress,

Dragging what's left of her life,

Her hair, her nails, her skin, it's a mess,

Nothing is left, for which to strive.

There she lies, in the middle of the night,

Tired of waiting on a sunrise,

Her eyes are finally open,

But looking at nothing,

Her words are finally spoken,

But saying nothing,

Her hair, her nails, her skin, all is cold,

There she reached her destined flight.

N.H.