denied

In the quiet
Of a dark morning
She contemplates
Eternity
And all the Ifs and why's
That plague
She presses her mouth
To the cold reflection of her soul
In her dark scrying glass
And ponders the outcome of tomorrow
She is mere flesh
At times a vapor that blows away
In the early morning breeze
Clinging mindless
To the bark of trees
She is denied the most basic of instincts

Trust

She bleeds desire
But has nothing to bind her wound.