Goth Girl

Black leather boots and shimmering chrome buckles.
Tight leather straps grip her calves,
blanketing a smooth sheet of pale skin.

Her satin purple valerie corset complimenting
her Goth-architecture.
She’ll dance and she’ll surely sing…

…she’ll have to journey with her soul-compass.
This story’s the path one dared to explore…

“I wanna grow to sing…”
she often confided to Father.        
 “Fools Paradise!” declared Father.      

Such little incisions into her dreams
never seem to derail her
off the route to nirvana.

Though the reality
 of a stabbed self-confidence
did make her turn away;
dipping her face back into the shadow.  

Often her nocturnal eyes
illuminated to such “taboo” in the dark.

Her determination flailing…
tearing away at mainstream bullshit.

But to what or whom may she speak?

Trekking barefoot alone
upon sandpaper grinds us to the core.

Oh but I can’t be alone.
A hazy view it is to have such chronic differences.

I don’t need it.  
The road back to “normalcy”
splintered in the quake.

”Come back!” No one listens,
 stranded still on that road,
she may never be saved.

She may seek refuge
in her mind-brewed
“Gothic forest.”