Girlshapedtragedy

By Hannah Swenson

I waste away as street lamps she their taste of hope briefly until they realize I am a waste; no hope, no encouragement.Streets are my beauty, my tragedy, the end of the line blinking back every wrong turn. But the feet continue walking even closer, knowing the consquences that lay ahead, bear traps itching for flesh. The window panes close, the curtains not able to watch the self-destruction; the  eyes begging for the end. Th lips blocking any cry for help. Caution tape and chalk lines are her guide; the mind one day hoping for a chalk portrait for its own. All at one the senses crack, the whip breaks its frozen gears begin to turn on her, she sees her her limbs leave her, she calls; longing for them back, promising to change, crying out for a second chance. The streetlamps lights flicker and die, the door knob quiver, dropping copper tears onto the welcome mats. She smiles knowing it's the end. The beginning began and came and went, one eye shuts and then the other. And the beauty gets her tragedy.

If anyone has any advice for improvement it would be greatly appreciated