The One by the Wall

She is the one who sits by the wall,
lips blood-red,
she wants to be dead,
She thinks she can hear the call.

She is the one with the knife in her hand,
points it at her chest,
for eternal rest,
her hourglass runs out of sand.

She is the one with the glassy blank stare,
eyes of ice blue,
looking at you,
Touch her only if you dare.

She is the one who has nothing left,
long gone are they,
with nothing to say,
they left her bereft.

She is the one, the one by the wall,
pale freezing skin;
she can't hear the din,
as her heart strives to answer the call.

Copyright 2008 by Rebecca Norman