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The Script
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Sorrow, and slashes of pain She's kept it in her heart,
A secret, ever so dark
Pages of a book that she reads each night,
The script to a play,
Each time, as a leaf is turned
She changes, a transformation divine
Evolution of being brought forth
By the emptiness of self
And longing of the senses
That each time a page is read
It paints the mind, or rather
Gives lines to this actress
In the empty stage that is her life
Where the empty seats
Are the only audience.
But the play is set,
And finally with these pages,
She'll lose herself.
not bad
not bad