ballerina

fingers.
sliding delicately across
the tattered keys of
an ancient piano
a soft voice
whispering a song
of melancholy, despair.
ears perk up
mind soaking in each word
gently pressing into her soul.
silent tears
the drops ever so tiny
ever so graceful.
dripping off soft, snow white skin
the emptiness engulfs
vast open spaces of nothingness occupy her soul
words roll off her tongue.
meaningless hollow words.
And then
she dances
the ballerina on her toes
her body the most beautiful, the most fargile, the most graceful
but even so
in her heart
behind her talent and beauty
she carries a dark, eerie nothingness
a black hole.
she sits.
runs her fingers up and down her soft legs.
her point shoes in a heap.
she waits
for the darkness to consume her.
And the tears to drop.
like a beautiful morning dew.
sitting atop
a rose petal.