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.