Torn

Walking down the streets

Nobody in sight

She is alone

Her head hanging low

Eyes bruised, lips cut

She has fallen off from her throne

Nowhere to go, no one to help

For her, happiness is yet a mystery

One that cannot be solved even by Sherlock Holmes

She screams for help

But her scorched throat fails to even mutter a word

She is alone

Slow footsteps surround her;

The nightmares coming back to haunt her

But no matter how much she pushes away, they continue to strangle

The suffocation by her fears

She is drained of her last bit of hope

So frail, slowly withering away

Her blood sparkling as if they were spangles

Her legs give in

Falling to the ground with a thud

No one to help, no one to hear her last farewell

Her eyes--a abyss of emptiness, pour tears gently down her scarred face

As deceiving laughs floats throughout her thoughts,

Her last breath is taken

But like I had said, she is all alone.