Can’t Trust the Girl

She is alone, and does not like it,

This imposed isolation, this prison of her existence,

Ostracized and hated for the truths she can’t help but speak.

Even those who love her are afraid, and leave her

To her own devices, leave her with the encroaching darkness,

With the inescapable fires of the future. She is overwhelmed to tears,

Raking nails on flesh to try and free the spirit within.

And so they keep close watch, sisters and protectors,

Afraid she’ll injure herself or someone nearest,

‘Cause they can’t trust the girl when there’s prophecy in her eyes.

She is vengeful, and sees no other purpose,

So bitter is her heart against those who have done wrong,

So strong her conviction of what must be done. Willingly

She bathes in blood and flame, a sacrament of absolution

Of her sins, committed in the name of justice.

Those who love her can only watch in awe, their golden friend

Turned crimson, her heart of purest fire encased now in ice.

She is another now, not an avenging angel but, more dangerous,

A woman impassioned, and not to be crossed,

‘Cause you can’t trust the girl with bloodlust in her eyes.

She’s headstrong, and nothing will change that,

No amount of lecturing or order can hope to restrain

Her so-free spirit. Her grace is sweet as a summer’s afternoon,

And just as quick to turn to a hot storm, blazing lightning

And roaring thunder. She is as careless, as reckless

As she is beautiful: pure, honest, real, an elemental force,

Gorgeous and terrifying, captivating as a blaze.

Her devotees would die for her more readily than they’d live for her,

For difficulty comes in dancing around so turbulent a queen,

‘Cause they can’t trust the girl with fire in her eyes.

She’s wicked, and she’s proud of it,

Well-pleased to be worshipped and feared, drawing strength

From the terror she sees in their eyes. They are drawn to her,

Magnetized, obsessed, focused on those ruby-painted lips

Which twist into a cruel smile, testament to the inferno

Within. She grins when they fight, and laughs when they

Bleed, and for the musical fire of her voice, they always do so,

Those boys she strings along, her favourite toys, to play with and break.

They adore her, her knights, and they cower before her,

‘Cause you can’t trust the girl when the madness reaches her eyes.