She who fights monsters
Does not have a fixed face
She who fights monsters
Is so hard to place
She who fights monsters
Might wield gun or sword
But she who fights monsters
Never hears thunderous applause
For she who fights monsters
Is too late to save.
She who fights monsters
Is far too depraved.
Live by the sword
And you become what you fight
Live by the sword
And you become what you fight
Live by the sword
And you become what you fight
Live by the sword
And you become what you fight
And so it ends.
YOU ARE READING
Corridor of Portraits
PoetryA corridor, its walls covered with portraits, stretches ahead of you. Some areas are lit up artistically, others frighteningly dark. Indecision grips you for a moment, but you must go on. You came here for answers, and you will get them. (A/N: Curr...
