“You are sparkling today.”
“You look gorgeous with all that white.”
“You look so heavenly.”
She thanks them as she gets each one of those compliments,
Flaunting her white abaya with a perfectly pinned white scarf,
She feels beautifully alive.
But then, a wave of negative thoughts strike her shore,
A bolt of sadness shatters her half grown elation,
She feels entirely dead.
That white cover hides her mess, bandages her wounds,
Glues her broken pieces, lights up her inner darkness,
They don’t know, that white cover is her shroud.
She’s a living dead.