((A circle now, from a triangle grew,
after careful honing of edges.
Rounded corners, point retired--
tears and broken pledges.
Pieces of her, all swept up--
like someone scooping dross--
Back turned, discreet,
to no one mutters, "never was..."
Suddenly, (or gradually)
who really pays attention?
An obscene alchemy occurred--
A corner made sharp entrance,
and spiked him through the heart...
Summoned priests, arm-in-arm:
"Evil Now Depart."
Chanting now, they all agree,
"she's not what she appears to be."
enough to set sanity reeling.
They chant again, smug in reply:
"You do not know what you are feeling."
A vessel once, now made a sieve.
My friend is dying--
dying to live.
She wants back every piece of her.
Even ugly, burning, hurt.
Every angle meets attack.
Without them all she feels is lack.
First, she must go back.
Toes on high-rise,
white on ledge...
"nothing," she sighed,
"has no edge."
'b'squirrel, i hope you'll forgive me for the "borrow," it was just one of those lines i loved so much, i had to make explain why.