You see these stuttering texts

Sent from a heart to a desktop

And question the ideals you read before

About a solitary departure.

 

Yet such words are typical of a fox

Whose fur has been scalped

Exposing her blackened self

Which contrasts her golden locks and tenacity

As well as the tricks meant to protect her

In her natural world.

 

But the eyes of a fox

-Although also most deceptive-

Hold the most truth in them.

 

These dimmed, misty eyes

Scanning the extensively dulled claws

Faintly scratching at the keyboard

Have pooled sincere tears

Tame as the animal they come from

 

Stone-hard air swells in her lungs,

And thoughts which swim in a corrosive,

Tar-polished mindset are gurgling:

“You've ruined everything.”

 

The fox’s coyness is no longer a charade

The decaying pit in her chest lay bare

All but a vulture’s eye sits crudely

Guzzling the exposed pollution

An idol of conformity to her,

Not “indulgence”.

 

A broken yelp bursts out her maw

But with no direction

Only the intentions you can’t see

Through this screen.

 

The loathsome wanderer recedes

But gazes plaintively at these words

Sent from a heart, written on a file,

An unstructured, but proper expression

Of a desire to set things right above all.

 

She burrows by the laptop

And rests a weary teal eye

Even though the river below has calmed

Her eyes imply that her fight rages on.

She’s seeking to atone for all she’s done

Under her own crooked logic

Driven to appease the idol brooding in her fear.

 

So you remember this well:

No matter what her acts convey,

The impossible trick in this fox’s eyes

Is that of denying your value to her.