Rusty autumn leaves hang on
To a miserable lifeless existance
Awaiting that cold wind
Which spiralling will bring them down.
Trapped inside a happy exterior
Humiliated, sometimes beaten into a mould
The model wife, an efficient homemaker.
Life of the content, shirtless beggar
She dreams-- subconcious escapism,
Longing those times
When being herself was enough.
Time will heal, never.
Like the fall leaf, she waits a-quiver,
The end of a meaningless life
A steep drop that will shatter an empty mould,
Shards of weird misery, a life noone will miss.