Cold. Ice. Dead. Vice.
It hunts and it runs.
It cries and it burns.
There's no sins like man's.
There's no darkness like hers.
She tames her power,
The power of the poor.
Praying for pity,
To be left out of the court,
Counting on her pairs.
But her pairs failed her.
Believing in her heart,
But her heart left her.
Emy Greater
07 / 05 / 2018
