But, She Feels.

the bustling mornings of the city,
emerging from the carcass of the still dead night,
embrace themselves in the tranquil morning air,
and are reborn with the first ray of light.

but for some others, perhaps those,
who have long forgotten how the light feels on their skin,
are still asleep or forever awake.
The air is humid,
the heat is scorching,
and the school go-ers have set forth on the monotonous voyage of their eternal life.

smiling, yet broken.
Perhaps, some are good at healing.
while others are good at concealing.
and then, we have the most ostracized of all,
the one who cannot heal or conceal or control
the persona that overtakes her psyche the very next moment.

what a misery she dwells in.
barely alive, barely breathing,
the worms tearing off her skin like rotten meat.
But, she feels.
Deeper than the ocean.
Calmer than the eye of the cyclone.

Through the epiphany of sounds,
she becomes the epitome of the long lost monstrosity,
against the broken winged
and the sewed-shut voices.