Face at the Window

There’s a face at the window: on the outside
Looking in, lingering somewhere between
Alive and dead. A beautiful mask on the outside
To hide the mouldering corpse within.
The world smiles around her, and still she feels
Something is missing, something is wrong. They don’t see
Beyond the façade; her reflection shows the truth,
If only they would look into her eyes.

There’s a face at the window, with wide eyes
pale as death, and moistened with tears
Unshed. She weeps on the inside. Tears
Under her mask: a soul ripped to shreds as they continue
To smile - unseeing, as she remains unseen, unknown.

She picks up a glass, drinks, feels the coppery tang of blood
Slide down her throat. Forms around her continue to sip
With simpering smiles; the taste of death
Doesn’t trouble them - they do not linger on the verge,
But embrace life wholeheartedly, as she dies within.

There’s a face at the window, and a smile plays
About its lips as she raises the glass again, and nods.
The glass falls, sideways, lands heavily against the wall,
Shatters silently. They do not look up, she only lost
Her grip, after all. Lost her grip, and now looks down
On splatters of crimson as they drip over the papered walls
And plush cream carpet. Lost her grip, and the glass fell
Sideways? Gravity has lost all meaning, or perhaps
She’s just losing her mind. Does it sicken and die
To join her soul - looking in with a small smile
From the world outside? A world cool and dark,
Where it can curl up safe and untroubled,
Alone and untouchable. Untouched.

There’s a face on the outside looking in, wishing
For all the things that cannot be. She turns
From her reflection, a painted smile on the living mask
That conceals the rotting corpse within. The world smiles,
And she smiles back, animated on the outside
As something trapped within her fades and dies.