Friday, August 2012
Gilded armor is lost within the intricacies of soil
The hands paint a picture of memories from the battle field
A battle that shields the demoness under the skin
Whispering, whispering words of misspelled dreams
Thoughts of fraying wires wrapping around the neck
Sealing the bond of death, a misery forgotten
Ships that once sailed in pride are now crumbs of ashes
Her ashen skin bare minuscule colors pixelated into dulled gray
A lull of her voice, whispering in the darkness.
Sat on a corner is the soul of sad dreams and hatred
Constantly screaming the words, kill yourself
End it, end the pain, scar the past, send the rain falling
The afterthoughts always end, of course
In the course of fifteen lonely years
Her tears have left dry marks on her cheeks
Her once rosy cheeks and tiny fingers
That reached in to touch the sky
Are now a spectral pale in the quiet of the morn.
>>k.l
