Gone

How long can her love last without being fed, without being nurtured or returned? A cold shoulder, an angry face.
When a woman’s love is set aside, rejected, it will starve itself to death, after breaking her heart from the inside out.
All that will be left is the casing that once covered her most precious asset, her heart.
As her heart shreds, she needs to find new ways to get her oxygen. She needs her heart to pump blood so that she can breathe. Each gaping, gasping wound demands to be filled…she can’t breathe…she can’t breathe…what will ease the excruciating pain in her heart, her lungs, her soul?
What will soothe the hurting?
Grandbabies, puppies, flowers and ice cream? Rain drops, snowflakes, chocolate and sunshine? Rainbows and Pink Angels? Cigarettes and her antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds? Worst scenario…Southern Comfort and razor blades? Janis Joplin rising from the ashes?
Round and round, up to down, sideways, backwards, seldom standing straight, respite always temporary, pain pushing her into the ground.
Wait.
The door to her self-inflicted hell is open.
Will she walk out?
YES.
A feather in the wind kinda woman…
she’s slipping and swirling
her way to freedom.
The angels will inspire
the happy will beckon
and away she will float.
Door gently closes behind her
as she drifts all the way
oh, so high
all the way done
all the way gone.