Tip-toe over strange whispers of
Words which fall from the mouths
Of sharp-tongued serpents.
I grieve a mirror-image,
Slightly distorted by your alcoholised-hot-breath.
It seems to take confessionals to close
I hope to follow the opposite path,
To carve out my own road,
Brick by yellow brick.
Naivety and optimism have led me
To lessons learnt and stories untold.
I am changed, but look closely- you may see a glimmer of the girl I once was.