An old battleship
A spider web
She lives in a prison cell
She created for her own self
Stuck in place like a wax statue
And like a dying flower
She hangs her head
Ogling up at the stormy sky as if perusing for answers
In the wind, her fortitude shakes like scared children
As she holds on to her blanket, and the memory of the days
when she could cry her pain away
When every teardrop was an answer, a magic wand to cast her problems aside
Now all that’s left are dry eyes and a numb body
and pain and wishful thinking
And the pain of not knowing what would’ve been,
the what ifs,
and knowing that she’ll never know
whether the decision she made
was the right one after all