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.