So she sits #2



Part two of some free writing, reflective poems


So she sits.
Her silence now seems different to before.
Silence; once filled with an energy so tormented it was taken for talent.
And yet; the silence.
The Silence now says more than the humorous rants and ridiculous ravings; running and rolling — writhing even — out of her receding reality.
That silence.
The stillness she holds is now somehow empty; devoid of the demons she once entertained in her thoughts.
They too had lost interest — once she gave up the fight.
To us she was lighter — at first.
So engaged, so full of life. Not at peace but full of hope.
Something had kept her here.
Someone or something had pulled her through, through the darkness we knew so little of.
Shame. The shame she felt for her powerless moments.
The fear of what that would mean.
To us. To her. To make it real.
To admit defeat and feel powerless out loud.
So she sits.

So she sits
If she'd have shared would we be here now?
Would she?
Would the guilt of sharing the weight of her worries and warped and wounded woes have worn her away with unfathomable ferocity?
She does not feel.
So she sits
At one with the feeling of nothingness, the play; now ended.
So she sits.

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