My hair is dead.

Nothing like my bobbed locks,

threads of gold and brown

intertwined into my curled crown.

Oh, how I long for my precious crown.


My past is a blur of lights,

the parties, the dancing, the people.

Earnest, Gertrude, Scott.

I miss Scott's gentle touch,

his lingering scent of mint and alcohol,

the characters in his word,

that resembled us,

and our love.


I had it all,

social status and talent in the arts.

A life worth living laid before me.

All that is gone now.

The music and chatter has faded,

there is only the non-stop silence

of an empty room with an empty soul inside. 


By Allysha

View more poems from Hornsby Girls High School, 2013