Melancholia
She was but a mere figment of the vortex
An ideal illusion, fabricated to condemn the supposition of reality
Her dark eyes prowl in the entity's mind, preying on every last drop of lucidity
You seem well-built, as if a mighty stronghold
That is, until you look upon the maiden of insanity
She takes away every brick you used to make yourself indestructible
—Slowly—
Tormenting every fiber of your conscience, until you crumble at her feet like an unmitigated plebeian
Not once did you ask upon the maiden to bestow such a curse so vile, but endure it you will
When the bricks are obliterated
When you stare at the granules that crunch beneath your toes
When you have hit your lowest of lows..
When the maiden took all of your ability to function and left bearing you with nothing but salient psychopathy,
Where is it for you to dwell?
For once you bear the darkness of the maiden's eyes; you are doomed to a life of delirium
But the maiden plays with the strings of your heart and attaches like a stitch to broken flesh
You fall deeply into her spell
If only you stayed away and trusted your intuition
If only you could break from her agonizing cycle of torment
May her hand graze only the cheeks of the strongest of warriors, and let rest the weary souls
For the maiden be not so fair
For all she had cast is but a dreary —melancholic air
-Rachel Kern 2018
