She was a lonesome old lady of fifteen years

She was a lonesome old lady of fifteen years

  So temporary, yet eternal

  So lost, yet the only anchor.

Her eyes laughed at the sorrow she had seen

  Too numb not to hurt

  And too placid to flee the pain.

Her wrinkled fingers clawed at her peach-fuzz skin

  Leaving scars too small to see

  But too deep to ignore.

Her legs sat in disuse, weakened by tears that wore upon them,

  Bore upon them, more — no more.

The wanderlust that waned and

  The adventure drained

  An empty, bleeding heart.

Yes, she was a lonesome old lady of fifteen years

  So temporary, yet eternal

  So lost, yet my only anchor.

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