She lives in the world
filled with doom and dismal reality.
She drinks from death
and takes solace in knowing
others suffer.
Her allies are the Moon and the stars.
She sings haunting and hollow.
Her eyes pools of darkness.
Her life is a cliched mess,
cigarettes and alcohol her best
friends...
The sun and crosses her enemies.
Living the life of a soul once
vibrant her heart beats with
the blood of others running
through her ice cold veins.
In a desperate attempt to seek
fuilfillment she is an enigma.
Author notes
It's not great, nor wonderful but this contest helped my writers block!!! Thanks!
Comments
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This was a really good piece. I hate feeling like that, and I believe that all of us have at some point or another.
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I don't know how you do it! This is so Rosita Bonita-y
Poor troubled souls in your poems. I think maybe you write for all of the troubled souls out there who cannot write for themselves yet. I just thought of that... I like that idea!
Love you, Rosita Bonita!
Momma Bella
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