Heavy dirty soul. Torn damned soul.
Hell-bound tormented soul.
Blood shot eyes. Swollen eyes. Lachrymose eyes.
Mirror, mirror what does her soul reflect?
Is it red? Is it dark red? Is it black? Or is it white?
Tell her mirror. Tell her.
Show her reality. Show her realm.
River! Oh crystal clear river. Why is her soul colorless?
Why do you reflect void? Her void.
For that is her beauty. That is her beatitude.
That is her soul.
Defined neither by light nor by darkness.
She is deviously beautiful.
YOU ARE READING
Rhapsodic Memoirs
PoetryA tale of poetry, a pinch of melancholy and a glass of rhapsody.
