First it's glow starts to fade,
From this pure little heart,
The room, it darkens without warning,
Illuminated at the start.
Then it turns pitch-coal-black,
The color of disease,
The feeling of love, it starts to eb,
She hides so no-one sees.
A crack, it forms in the middle,
Slight and small at first,
Slowly, the crack, it starts to split,
Surely it'll burst.
It bleeds, unending, for forever
Out of plotted cracks,
Heavier and thicker does it get,
Purity she'll never get back.
A dying heart inside her chest,
Feeling nothing but awful pain,
By choice she turns into wispy ash,
From life she's nothing to gain.
Of her heart but one remembers,
An evil face and grin,
He caused her death and her destruction,
Turned stone-cold by sin.
---------
I feel like I should explain this.
Most of my poetry has no real significance except to be exactly that; poetic. However, this stems from an encounter with that of the male species that I had only a few months ago. He was awful, and what we've done together is awful. The aftermath is tragic, and I've now lost something I can never regain.
Wounds heal; time passes. This, too, shall pass.
