makes a ghost of me,
while I lie awake
looking for Heaven’s gates.
No, they only open
for the most lively of humans.
No, they do not open
for those judged beneath them.
And I know that they feel
to damn me without chance for appeal
is the finest decision they have ever made,
and who would know better—them or this shade?
They have everyone believing,
that I am a girl without feelings,
that this soul of mine,
is the coldest of all time.
I am nothing, I know.
To say otherwise would be too bold.
“I am simply shy!” that is all, but I
cannot reach those who turn a deaf ear or blind eye.
The truth you ask for: I am no fiend.
Heaven’s gates do not open for strangers like me.