If they can't see her then she doesn't exist

If they don't exist, she can't be seen ...

or felt.

Feeling her insides bleed,
 although no blood leaks from the wounds she wears...

The waves grow angry and hungrier

through time.

Lapping...constantly
...lapping...

wearing down her resolve with each and every tide.

She feels the pull of the moon like a sucker punch serenade.

She sees only crimson color smeared into stained glass.

Yet the world is pretty...
 So pretty through their rose colored visions.

Nonetheless, she remembers that life doesn't always look better this way.

When the rose tint has faded,

everything is grey.

Unknown faces stare from the shadows.

Surrounded by things that move and fall with no explanation

Are they waiting?

All the while watching her bleed?

Her arterial ink could paint a masterpiece

that would bring Jackson Pollock to his knees.

Still, her yearning goes unnoticed and has become her disease.

Her pretenses hide it all,
behind a mask made for the world to see.

And if they can't see her then she doesn't exist...

Right?

....and truthfully...have you ever seen me?