The Tired Tread

THE TIRED TREAD OF THE WEARY

Papers litter the floor.
Covered in faces,
Infused with colour
And memories from many places.

She paints her world,
Just the way she sees it.
Idealistic, alive, bright,
Just the way she needs it.

But when the light is out.
Her fears uncaged.
All hell breaks loose as
Unchained, they rampaged

Through her fragile mind.
Hands shaking with trepidation,
Mind oddly clear of hesitation and
A line is drawn with deliberation.

Scarlett stains alabaster white.
And yet the light fails to shine.
So a weary smile stretches her face and
She drowns her sorrows in her wine.