She’s The Resulting Consequence
Your lesson on past errors
She wilted from the stress of society,
The empathetic heart of hers slowly solidifying,
Friends riding roughshod over her emotions,
Lovers breaking her piece by piece, it was horrifying.
***
She closed her heart, locking it in chains,
Rebuilding the vault that housed her emotions,
Standing tall, she walked the halls of darkness,
Smiling, sneering, snarling at those who destroyed her devotions.
***
Tomorrow will be the dusty trail of her revenge,
Trampling the forest of broken debris that once was her heart,
Insanely giggling as she hovers over the destruction,
Her list of names an arm’s length of skinless art.
***
She slips through their nightmares,
Waltzing around their deepest darkest fear,
Collecting her ammunition, her lessons in terror,
Ready to destroy all that they hold dear.
***
Answering her knock on their door, their greatest mistake,
She now has access to their wishes, dreams and desires,
Trashing the hallways, destroying the bedrooms,
Lifting the roof, leaving a trail of destructive wildfires.
***
Each enemy falls to their knees, begging forgiveness,
Although it’s obvious her pain has sent her insane,
They recognise her demons as they laid them upon her,
As she celebrates their demise with bloodstains and champagne.
***
She now wanders the halls of the underworld,
Patience worn thin, demons begging to range at her side,
The crudest successful, their strength and evilness welcome,
Rampaging, destroying at her command, relentless and horrified.
***
She screams her battle cry of her revenge,
“You believed me broken beyond repair,
And you were right, I am now your worst nightmare,
You broke me, stole my love, now it’s you who will be left to despair!”
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Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (2)
Whoaaaaa! This was sooooo badass! I loved this line so much: Her list of names an arm’s length of skinless art!
She sounds pissed. Very well done.