Gothic

Alone in her head,

alone is her heart.

Making black the reason,

she can shine in the night.

Bloody wrists of tears,

eyes as dry as rain.

Painful words unspoken,

life undone long ago.

Silence inside of her solitude,

reckoning the end coming near.

Living to die in her own way,

never trying to fit in.

She sings sad songs,

writes poetry in blood.

All of the time she has been here,

nobody could see who she was.

More than a concept of feeling,

her makeup dark like her heart.

Tormented by life so unwavering,

put down to rise up once more.

Inside she is more than perfection,

she cries by the slices on her arms.

So many words never said,

so much pain never seen.

When she smiles there is only desire,

in shadows she waits for her time.

Gothic woman made so beautiful,

for eyes as dark as mine to see.









Johnny Newell