Le Fin (Part I)
Is. Was. Doing. Did. Done. Undoing. Undid. Undone.
Sadness grows quietly,
From one syllable to two,
She holds dear that one.
One syllable grows inside of her,
She is Graceless,
Hopeless.
That one syllable becomes her.
She is
One syllable that can easily evolve,
She was hoping to be Nameless,
Faceless.
That one syllable began to tick inside of her like an unnerved grenade.
She was
Divided, split in two
inspected.
Suspected.
No longer one.
She had no Idea what she was doing
Until she was one again but
She was done
Multiplied was her existence,
Never was she so aware,
She couldn't make sense of anything,
Undoing what was done is exactly what she'd bring herself to fear.
Undid.
Undone,
She was no more,
She wanted to be no more,
Her ribs were bruised, her lungs were tired.
He did. She was undone.
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Graceless
RomansaGrace is an enigma. The words are smothering, stealing her breath slowly each day. Chances are it'll be the death of her. Chances are it'll be her undoing. But maybe, just maybe; there's a miniscule probability of it being her 'doing'. "Maybe," his...
