She kneels
With a fixed sightless gaze
With death at her sides
Lungs cold
And getting colder in
The wash of a thousand tides
She sinks
Ever farther down
Into a day as black as blood
Palms trembling
And trembling more
On a hilt of rubies and dry mud
She breathes
Into a hurricane
Of smoke and God and fear
A prayer that's sad
Sad increasingly
Increasingly unclear
For her hair is made of ribbons
And the ribbons made of war
And her sword is made of hatred
And hate lasts more than more
She stands
On broken feet now
On feet that left behind
A beginning anyone could see
If it hadn't left them blind
She bows
To nothing anymore
To nothing does she look
To soldier, warlord, messenger,
To scroll, to pen, to book
She bites
At the confusion
Enveloping her in a sea
She bites at the senselessness
That is her boundary
For her eyes are made of diamond
And they're pale and full of lore
And her nails are caked with power
She tried to claw from her own core
For her heart is made of pieces
A swinging-by-its-hinges door
And her hair is made of ribbons
And the ribbons made of war
