Writing Prompt #120 and Wordle #131

Collage 4

Her vacant mouth balances,

Corners scorched, an amalgam

Of lies and proximity.

She wears masquerades

In the company of strangers

And in the absence of friends.

Hurled into the faces of others

Tears can feel like gravel,

In the heart of the holder

They are bricks and walls.

An angel cheated

By the enclosure of time.

Despite all her nothings

The clock still notices.

Days fall into place like a fence,

Like feathers in a raven’s cloak.

Everything to gain in her freedom,

Her tentacled hands clutch

At devastation, at keepsakes lost,

At the ingress of human trash.