but an Echo

An echo of a soul
The shell of a heart
A mark of a once brilliant brain

Sunken eyes
Tear stained face
Scars lining her outer case

These scars are bad
But not the worst
Those lay deep within

Her hollow chest
Filled with cold air
And the grisly shadows of despair

Her heart, with its scars like an intricate map,
It was the first to go
Fallen like a battered soldier in a war torn field

The clock, it lay internally, never ceased to tick
And this was no exception,
Tick, tick, tick.

Her soul escaped
Like a thief in the night
Strings set free on a wind-filled kite

And still, her clock ticked on

The voice in her head taunted, “You can’t win”
And faithfully her brain relinquished control
Like an emperor stepping down from his throne

And still, her clock ticked on

Heatless
Soulless
Brain-dead

And still, her clock ticked on

She wondered how this could possibly be
She must now be a different entity
Because, certainly, she couldn’t still be me?

But still, her clock ticked on

So she wondered,
And she wondered,
And she wondered,
When she would just be gone.

2 thoughts on “but an Echo

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