She found destruction beautiful because it was liking ripping open a chest and taking a spoon, carving as if it was a pumpkin in need of shaping. It was letting the blood soak into your skin as you marveled at the inner workings of another human being. It was watching their heart beat inside their chest and wondering why, how, when it will stop. Destruction was not en-kindling the fire but instead extinguishing it, observing the light die slowly until it is nothing but ash.
And it was for these reasons that she wanted to destroy herself and she did.
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destruction
PoetryShe set out to destroy herself, piece by piece she fall apart until the remains were too scattered and maybe she should've stopped from lighting herself on fire but why would she, when she had a lighter and the world around her was a tank filled wit...
