Pretty little things flutter around,
They dance in the soft light,
passing through the tiny window.
Their wings sparkle as they move,
unaware and oblivious of the darkness around.
She gazes at them in awe,
as she stands in the empty room.
She was one of them,
she was loved and admired.
She had danced, she had lived,
Yet none of it has she kept.
Bitterness fills her, suffocates her,
She turns to look at the pretty little things,
startled to find herself standing so near,
Her eyes wide with horror,
as she looks sadly at her bony hands,
the weary figure stops trembling as soon as it starts,
the fear slowly transforming into an eerie smile.
Satisfied, she whispers to the empty room,
Never... it will never dare to fly again.