Lank coal-black hair hangs down a gaunt face,
Creeping unfettered across the face like weeds
Her eyes like crimson-streaked ice
Which reflect the cracked remains of something bright,
The glittering remains of hope and aspirations,
Her heart hidden deep in a pit of darkness
Trampled by the ecstatic feet of demons,
Frolicking in pyrite halos and bleached wings
They have become her fatal savior.
Ivory winds blow through her corroded jaw
Extinguishing the dieing ashes of the torches,
Torches left to light her path,
Each left beside the scorched remains of a heroine,
Who could have saved her from her fall from grace.
Drifting through the smog,
Falling as a penalty of her taste of the forbidden fruit
She drops once again to her dark path,
Destination obscured by demonic temptations.
And so she wanders through her soul's prison
Wracked by a cough of cold-
Nay. A convulsion of oblivion.
Her wounds being tended to by acids and blazes
And in a sudden rush her pain is euphoric
As her heart finally goes dim
And the darkness becomes a cycle.