The swing moves quietly in the breeze,
a reminder of the laughter that used to be.
She used to care, but no longer.
Dark clouds move in to envelop her soul,
but she gave that up long ago.
A hollow shell is all that’s left,
the only remnant of who she once was.
The pain in her eyes belie the pretense she lives
and she no longer recognizes the sadness
that stares back at her through the mirror.
Her arms folded, she stares into space
as she stands by the window.
Vacant from her body, she briefly wonders
when she quit trying. When she died.
She knows it doesn’t matter.
There is no turning back.
Time has ravaged her spirit
and grief has generously allotted her
a portion from its chalice.
Worn and spent, she releases her soul to bleed out.