Her pallid face like powdered snow,
ashen and bereft of morning glow,
as she sat crosslegged along the riverflow,
chasing squirrels scurrying high and low.
In her mind flows an endless river,
as her body ceases to shiver,
In lies she was a believer,
but in truth, she was consumed by fever.
Seraphic face coupled with devilish grin,
yet by the world's eyes she was unseen,
Wings perfect yet soaked in sin,
She remembers only all that was mean.
In revenge's embrace she soars,
The knife of words she wields,
She pens down in red her remorse,
As she sits in solitude mourning her loss.
