By April Terry
She put up a front,
Pretends all is well.
But on the insides,
Slowly she dies.
Once she had it all,
And everlasting love.
She'd always been told,
Love conqures it all.
Now she knows,
Just what a lies that was.
Everything is gone,
Inculding her love.
She is left alone,
To whittler away.
Each day looms darker,
As she submits to her forlornness.
She supresses her thoughts,
For all is lost.
Life itself,
Has lost its' purpose.