THE PICTURE LIED

I heard it's worth a thousand words.
Just never specifies the moral condition of the moment.
I saw a picture of her ten years ago.
I fail to fathom how it came to us.

There,a torn apart soul,
Sombre eyes,
wild nails,
purple lips
and,
... a .... not ... so ... attractive ... figure.
She was forgotten at eighteen,
No life can I see inside the image.

I stare at her now,
She rests on my bed partially asleep.
Her face happier wow,no scars
Eyes sparkle through,
Nails lovingly caress the pillow,
Her body,a perfect depiction of natured beauty,
I stammer not whence boasting her current splendor.

In this picture, I see other things that stab my heart,
A child in tattered clothes looking up to her face.
Though her eyes are fixed elsewhere onto someone else.

A man inside a sports car.
He smiles maliciously,mockingly and mercilessly.
I'm seeing the weather behind them,red-black clouds.

I look out my window,romantic sun setting.
The clouds streaming light onto the picture at hand.
I spot another unbelievable object,
A sticker spelling out her name on the car side,purple in color.
My thoughts rush,my heart breaks into strips of paths,
That her own life might have taken.
I uncover her from below,looking for something I don't actually know.

I find a scar of initials,
M.O.O.
The very faint mark I magnify and confirm on the photo,
Her legs different,but the journey permanent.
I try to convince myself,
To shake off the throb in my heart.

This picture is lying to me,
We are not reincarnations of past souls.

Carswell evoL