The Girl With Rose-Coloured Hair

To the girl with rose-coloured hair,

How do you float around so seamlessly,
Beautifully aware of your destruction?

How is your voice a distant echo and a pained whisper?
You could inspire tales of sirens luring people to their deaths.

Do you know that you’ll always suffer,
A prisoner of misguided piety and fading rebellion?

Do you know that your weakness is your strength?
You’ve made melancholy a virtue.

What caused that halo that lives around you,
The one made of foggy mornings and evening sunbeams?

What stopped your face from aging,
Despite your heart growing ever more exhausted?

To the sweet rose-haired girl, the woman who lives as though she’s in a renaissance painting, I offer an apology,
For even after all these years, I never stopped to ask,
“What is your natural colour?”