Wearing her face like a mask
Devoid of any expression
Suggesting and implying nothing
Revealing nothing of herself

Onion and tomato wedges
Rocking on the cutting board
Like sliced pieces of moon
Origin of her tears these days

Torn between all she had
And all she wanted
Refusing to decide
Choosing not to choose

The price of happiness
Higher than she could afford
Resigning to oblivion -
And striving to be faceless

So they say she has no heart
That she cannot feel
That she is not real
Little do they know!

Morning glories decorate
The reliquary of her heart
Along with dying trailing vines
Flowing toward planned anonymity

©2000 poetheart

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