by Nick Gisburne
The woman that she was, but left behind,
Is waiting in the shadows of the past.
Machinery connects her crippled mind
To fragile dreams too magical to last.
The pain when he was gone and she, alone,
Was left without the man she drove away,
A time to which she travels, to atone,
Then downwards, deeper, darker, day by day.
But these are not the memories she knows,
Emerging from the corners of the void.
The record, true, untwisted, clearly shows
Her confidence exploited, damned, destroyed.
Abandoning the burden of the blame,
She sees, at last, what broke her has a name.
