The hollow woman

I could write my own version of T.S Eliot's 'The hollow men'. Not about the world at large, but about the person I am. A hollow woman with drawn-out expectations about what she ought to be. Hardly realising how she has blended herself into the environment. Not raising her voice against anything unfair. You'll find her trying hard, but muted very much like a goldfish. Empty and paralysed inside, but keeping up appearances. She wishes not to discuss her problems, but retreats into solitude, like a wounded panther licking its wounds in the cover of darkness. Somebody shake me up...

hopeless restlessness

The pearls of hope I've dropped on the ground!
The pearls I'd held in my hands with care...
They bounce trying to regain their seat,
Yet I fail them blinded by their frenzied pace.
Some I behold rolling on the mirror-like floor,
Some I know are lost in places unknown.
My scattered hope! My lost hope!
See how they 'rest in peace'
leaving me in ghostly restlessness...