She runs through isles
Searching shelf to shelf
For love that doesn't spoil
But all she found was spoiled
Ambitions and dreams
The people around her
Are mirrors that reflect
What she cannot see
She grew up with poets and philosophers whispering in her ears every night
She grew up with artists and authors' faces
Dominating over the walls of her grounds
She waited for her heart to die and simmer down
Like the batteries of her mind
She never knew the power of her emotions
Until she looked through his teary eyes
Seeing her bruised smile
And cut lips
And her long legs
She saw the girl that knocks door to door
Looking for herself
But all she found was more doors
Doors that block her from her intuitions and cognitions
Doors that block her from the nerves of her body
The nerves that tickle her stomach
And shake her in the cold
The nerves that travel across her skin
Shocking her
With the adrenaline
that absolves in her blood
With the words of regret
Feeding on her mind
The words that paint her body
The words that dance together ever so soundlessly
Swirling around the aroma of pasts
Pasts she has forgotten
Pasts she left behind her because of innocence and adolescence
Pasts that burned books and gave birth to paper and ink
Feathers fall from her ceiling
Shadowing her bed
And kissing her nightmares
Giving her a temper so high
Ice melts under her warm hands
Smoothing up her fingernails
And colouring her white
With hair so dull
And a crown so gold
With foreign letters engraved in its gems and diamonds
Gems buried deep in the mountains of distress
And diamonds sunk to bottoms of wells and holes
Wells that greet children
And fools
Wells that grant prayers
And failures
Wells so deep you drown in stars and planets
Planets of lost troops and dead hikers
Hikers that reached the highest points of their conscious and souls
Staring at their gods in blade
And in her blue eyes
Bluer and deeper than the wells she fell in
Deeper than the cuts on her organs and bones
Deeper than the depths of her knowledge and philosophy
Deeper than the tea kettles filled with soaked bags of herbs and fortune
She sat cross legged on her orb decorated thrown
Disobeying her lords
And her queens
Believing surgeons can cut through her deserted heart
And remove the tumour that has spread across her bones and skin
The tumour that has cut the roots that are planted deep within the soil of her head
Leaving a dark dusty hole for satan to enter her mind
And repel her for her being
And petrify her with love
Giving her agony instead of pleasure
He pushed her off cliffs
And hung her from bridges
Yet, she still lives
She lives everyday
Wondering wether her curiosity has dimmed down to nothing but a piece of burned parchment
A piece of parchment that held her life
And held his nothing.
