Strands of hair fall before her face
as she rests her head uncomfortably
on the cold,
hard surface of the desk.
An army of tears surround the edges
of her emerald green eyes.
Her sorrow then bleeds out
from deep within her soul
like wine flowing carelessly into an elegant glass.
Reluctantly,
she takes her new concoction
and swallows its contents in a swift gulp.
Her body once more becomes a bottle
that withholds her prolonging pain.
Violently,
the pressure will build up once more.
It is far too late to save her
once the sadness has been harbored.
There is no rest...
No relaxation.
She will never let it go.
It is easy to say "Suck it up! Be a man!"
But you must understand
that she is no man
nor is she a big girl.
Sweet little child...
Who told you not to cry?
willowsdomino Community Member 
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