Her soul seemed to be floating endlessly.
Lingering in the halls and empty rooms.
Her mind unraveled,
Leaving her shattered.
At an early age, she was taught that,
Life was too precious and that,
And that means that,
Death truly must mean something.
If death truly meant something,
Why were people using up what was precious?
Even when they knew they had a finite supply?
Her mind could not comprehend it.
Her heart beats alright,
But she did not know for what?
Certainly, not for those who roam the afterlife.
What she knew was that,
Her heart became hard as concrete,
And cold as ice.
Nothing could thaw it,
Not even what they called "Love".
She also knew, she was good at destroying,
Taking what's not hers,
She was great plagiarism too.
Thus, becoming an unbound ethereal being.
She had set many fires,
She had broken many fragile things.
Including,
Her own self.
YOU ARE READING
Epigrams
PoetryIt appears you've found my book and before you decide to read it's contents, know that... These poems are everything that is me. (Also the cover was made by my buddy FierroThorne!)
