FORGOTTEN

What does it matter?

The people passed by.

Flashes of color,

grey and blue,

a compliment to the sky.

 

Her hands are placed stiffly

on her knees.

Her back slightly arched

and face down.

On a bench she sat

of black iron.

Its curves

to her meshed.

 

What does it matter?

She asks again.

The voice is feint.

Small.

She is so fragile,

no longer standing tall.

 

The bench cannot shudder,

It’s the only thing

holding her now.

Puddles well below her,

salty tears pour out.

 

The people pass by.

No one sees her.

No one cares to try.

She is just another person

claimed by an emptiness

filling the insides.

 

She has lost all her color.

There is not much more

within you could find.

Pride shuns her

and association is denied.

Laughter is too hollow

and the smiles are uncourageous lies.

 

She is

forgotten

Because you choose

to be blind.

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