She was an icicle,
cold but beautiful.
Skipping like a little girl,
into souls with no forced entry,
eyes wide with a so called innocence.
Minupulating others,
calling them to dance in her ice kingdom,
she wandered from one person to the next,
killing all their light, just like others had done too her.
All she ever wanted was someone to hold her,
melt the sorrow that froze everything pure,
contaminating her innocence that she desperatly,
attempted to hold onto.
But it was like holding onto sand with your bare hands.
Frost consumed her, and she tried to rid herself of it,
through cruelty onto others,
but she never prevailed.
A lost dancer in a world of roads to take,
stumbling apon the ice while pirroutting,
more than occasionaly falling with no one,
to help her up and start again.
And she's still is dancing,
that dance of searching and minipulation,
waiting for the snow to come,
to wash it all away.
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