Her flesh crumbles into madness,
Daring sanity to pry itself from the dark,
Broken and discarded, she rambles through her past
To discover a secret, the eventual of her own demise,
A promise only made for her father,
Her tears, an elegy that never subsides, streams
After the cold has taken a hold of her,
Fragile doll in the unforgiving grasp of sin,
Laughter parades a subliminal lie, remnants of something
Lost,
In the grasp of night, a seldom voice is heard whispering among the frosted tip wind as it howls in mourn,
A myth; an uncaring placebo; a saturated storyline unbeknownst of validation or examination,
Is this justifiable? Withering away to something paid in the favor of a blowing piece of paper holding the remains of what could have been, but never really was..
Re: Her Name Implied
I feel like this could go a couple of ways. Is she dying? Is she sad over a lost love? Is she an airhead having an anxiety attack? jk on the last one lol, but nice imagery :)
Re: Interesting
That is based on your own interpretation of the idea. That's the beauty of poetry, it is something you interpret, rather than being told.
Re: Her Name Implied
I like that this describes a lot of turmoil and yet still leaves a lot to the imagination of the reader. Very cool.
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