I often feel that poetry is a more accurate reflection of the soul, we release everything we have into a few choice words...

The electrical current runs down her spine
Pain echoed only in her eyes.
She doesn't know where to go, who to turn to
All there is is the knowledge that nothing is changing today.
Words bounce around her skull
"Why bother... No one likes me, they look at me with pitying eyes
They stutter out half true words hoping that I'm too stupid..."
Just to know how the world spins.
The current is unending--
A constant reminder of the pain,
The anxiety the pounds against her soul every moment,
They never help her,
Never stop to hold her up and tell her how wonderful she is,
She would be satisfied for life just to know she means something to someone.
How could they,
All she knew was the chill--
The chill that constantly rocked her body,
Tormenting her slowly pulling her to edge,
She never gave completely in,
But oh-
How she danced on that edge,
She danced with such grace and ferocity that the town turned up,
Eyes as large as gulf balls,
And as cold and old as the forgotten bag of golf balls long retired,
Left to rot in the garage with the spiders.
Just turn to her and say the words to make it all right,
You know you could help her,
The electricity short wired rocks through her nerves again.
Help her,
For no matter how she tries,
She can't escape on her own.