The girl's soul drinks shots of grey polluted raindrops,
And feels her hair slowly turning an ashy shade.
She wraps herself in a shroud and lays down to wait,
So empty that even the end would be welcome,
Because it will fill her up completely for a few seconds.
Right before she’s loosed from this earthly shell.
The trees are dressed in winter with stripped branches,
And their limbs are lifted as if searching for something.
She lays at their base with fingers plucking at debris,
Wondering if perhaps they’re not seeking but raising arms high in defeat.
The wind whistles a mournful tune inside the tunnels of half listening ears,
Deepening the sensation of a void within a chest lacking sufficient oxygen.
She has poured out all her colors,
To brighten the lives of others.
And she does not regret her actions.
Its just that she's exhausted now,
But can't seem to stop give the last remaining scraps of herself,
To feed so many other starving souls.
They seem to call to her with both open hands and clenched fists.
She takes their pain, anger and sadness,
Holding it in blistered and bleeding palms.
Their heat and cold have scarred her delicate skin,
But still she holds them deathly tight,
Knowing full well they might very well be the death of her.
Yet she cannot bear to back away,
From the thought of letting one life slip and break.
She wants to rest and figure out what to do,
Except time is a very precious resource,
And she can't bear to spend it on herself,
Because she believes she doesn't deserve expensive things.
Her voice cracks, her back bends, her fingers ache.
She is carrying the weight of eight lost hearts,
She strains to stop them with words from a parched throat,
And they never see the tears falling from sore worn eyes,
As each one only half believes the depth of her care.