The Pink Lady

There stood a lady pale and small Smoke curled around her lips like a lovers mark Her lungs alit, her breath a whisper in the howling wind With a hat of black adorned with nothing more than a single blue feather, she stood in the rain Her cigarette the smallest glow of hope in that blackend night The stars cried on the other side of the world Their tears for their fallen mother rippled on the thrashing river beside the lady The mud slowly swallowing her heels as she gazed about the desperate river Yet there she stood dry Those crimson lips curled around one last time One last inhale of sweet sweet calm to blacken her heart a little more With the stars now wailing shards of glass at her, the pale lady looks about her There is nothing to be seen in this place There was never anything here for her to take All she ever desired was to take, indulge, and own With a flick of the little sun between her fingers, she casts away her hope With one last mournful daze at the river, all the faces she has ever cried for drown and sink into the stones and mud beneath Afterall, no fish swim here in this treacherous river An exhalation singals her farwell Perhaps one day she will tread this well again