She went after them.
They were the soulless,
The distraught.
Those who were sadistic,
The irony chased them.
Living in the dark,
For as long as she was alive.
Hating her world.
Wanting to kill herself.
Bullied by her brain.
Snapped like a thin wafer.
Crazed by the demands,
She decided to demand for once.
And she demanded for blood.
The iron infused,
Thick crimson fluid.
That gave life.
The reason she went for them.
Her teeth,
A pale orange.
Her breath,
A faint smell of metal.
Her clothes were seamless.
Her victim's cloth,
Torn.
Pulled apart to tatters.
Barely covered their lifeless owners.
Her mind so addicted,
She killed again and again.
There was something about it,
The kill,
The chase,
The chaos.
Her victims scream,
At the top of their lungs.
Their sound muffled,
By the blood in their throats.
They choke.
And drown in their own blood.
The murderer.
Skipping around after.
Singing her tune.
Wiping evidence of off her face.
Wearing a red dress,
That was once white.
Her hair glued with dry crimson.
She in bliss.
Utter joy.
Her true nature,
The one she hid so fearfully.
Now taking over her,
Out in the open so fiercely.
Nature was scared,
Scared of a nature of a kind.
Ironically belonging to the brutal.
No guns.
No weapons.
Just herself.
And people ran.
Where she once ran from herself.
There now lay the corpses.
The cloth she was of.
Belonged to the vicious.
The cloth she is.
Belonged to herself.
Something much worse.
The taste is what kept her going.
The sweet hints.
The bitter endings.
And the way it went down her throat.
Burning the sides.
Burning the insides.
So lovely.
She was having a true red valentines.
Red teddy bears.
Red hearts.
Red box chocolates.
Crimson instead.
And her heart.
Full of pleasure.
She took solace in herself.
And was finally happy.
She felt herself become free.
Others ran away,
While she remained bright.
With glistening red cheeks.
Her skin flawless.
Her mind flawless.
She was flawless.
She saw it.
And so did the same.
The flaws of her world.
Dying.
Made her world flawless.
Eternal bliss attained.
~CrosOver
YOU ARE READING
The Psyche Of Mine
Poetry**** I've never really known how to move, where to see or what to feel.. But sometimes, I have moved enough to be alive, I have seen enough to not go blind, And I have felt words enough to feel.. **** **** Its my first time properly penning down m...
