Winter Grief in the Midnight Hour

It was impossible to forget a face like that.

The sadness in her eyes told a story that words would never speak,

the absence of tears that would never form.

Her mind was a conundrum of highs,

of lows,

to the puzzlement of the audience,

baffled by this mystery.

The heart of a poisonous kind of beauty.

She was in a dangerous dilemma,

the charade of perfection,

a puzzle of sorts,

the crisis of deception.

One more day,

and she might have been okay.