*POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING*
Darkness prevails each night,
Swallowing the world with its terrifying bite,
Clouds turned obsidian,
Water turned into a cloak,
Skies turning a shade reminicent,
Of these words I wrote.
Knives running crimson,
Life running dry,
Her hands shake like snakes,
As the knot forms on the rope she tied.
Her body trembles,
Like an emotional roller coaster,
As she rises higher,
From the chair she climbs,
She's reminded of how her promise of life,
Was a deluded mess of lies.
She wears the rope, like a form of morbid scarf,
If life were a painting,
She had been finished with this piece of art.
With a final sigh of happiness,
From her coming payback,
She topples over the chair,
And everything faded black.
- M.C.
