A river of despairing tears flowed from her eyes Her face wore a significance no freckle could disguise She wished she could stop time and elude her fate Absconsive euphoria was hers to create But it was all an illusion. In silence, she drowned her wounds in music She painted over them, but neglected to banish them and so they festered and boiled in her soul to the eerie sirens of deception Paradox. Chiasmus. Life has purpose. It cannot be fulfilled until discovered but cannot be discovered until fulfilled. She was lost in a bitter sea of alienation All she ever wanted was for someone to understand To discover, fathom, and respond to her message in a bottle An S.O.S. "Serendipity or Suicide?" Her final shard of broken hope pleading for a miracle People said they empathized only because they wanted to be her hero The reason for her resurrection Veritably they were self-centered shovels that dug her grave "Stay or capitulate?" She asked herself although she already knew the answer She wanted to thrive, not just survive The weeds of "humanity" had strangled her faith She had become a zombie, alive in flesh but dead in spirit She was ready to stagger into the disappointed arms of the one who anticipated her failure. But the arms pivoted her, saying, "I'm not finished with you yet." The arms lent her the strength to stand to walk another step, to run another mile The arms held her every step of the way, even when all she wanted to do was die. And finally, the arms hold the light by which she sees the life she would've missed had she given up.