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.
YOU ARE READING
Torn
PoetryNot my best considering I did it in 5 minutes at 7 minutes till 1 AM but here it is