Her Shame

Within her skin rages a quiet storm
Self’s liar caged, it’s eye
The barely contained cacophony
Bitter lungs full, unable to cry

Brittle bones her framework
Made so with icy words
Her inner voice, imprinted
Innate innocence unheard

The thief of freedom, of unrestrained smiles
Destruction lurking in wait
Her soul craving absolution
Pleading for penance to sate

Slowly consumed, from the inside out
Far-reaching ruin, to caverns of mind
But a vestige of her self remains
Revival unlikely this time

Written with Wordle Me This #3; image via Pixabay.

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