august : 9th.
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eyebrows arched like a parabola,
cherry lips roaring the battle cry
bloodstained creases of her once cottony hands ─ weep ;
subtlety is dead.
the battlefield is her home now,
hellfire in her once naïve eyes
lament as she lies down ─
on her colossal bed of thorns.
the sword graces her lithe frame,
blade as sharp as her tongue
and even the deadliest monsters
kneel at her feet ─
for she ain't a princess but
a warrior.
── ruins.
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a/n : i wrote this at 7am in the morning, within 10 mins of waking up, so pardon me. :')
YOU ARE READING
paracosm | ✓
Poetrybut you see, there is a graveyard in my mouth, filled with words that have died on my lips. © 2020 mia ruby jane | all rights reserved [ a poetry collection ]
