As she whispers to herself,
her shouts become shadows,
and heartbeats chime thirteen;
the pain in her chest is not surpassed,
by the memory of just before midnight.
Why did she stay? When all about said,
run, flee, escape, (or) you’ll rue the day.
Holding a bouquet of disdain,
she will mourn the bride,
and hide the pain.
© Beyond Cinderella 01.02.13
by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm