She sits on a cloud,
Cold and wet,
Surrounded by blackness,
When will it end?
Her memories are a fog,
Past and present,
The lines are unclear,
The future, there is none.
It was not always like this.
There was sunshine and butterflies,
Warm yeasty bread and wine,
Alas, slowly all unraveled, fell into an abyss.
One by one the loved ones left,
Saddened by the wall she built,
Today she sits in the corner ,
Rocking in her chair.
She sees no color,
Flowers she cannot smell,
Feelings are void,
A zombie she has become.
When will it end?
She does not know or care,
She faces the wall,
Which, like her mind, is blank.
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