She Welcomes The Darkness While Wandering The Destructive Halls Of Hell
Wrapped in her cloak of skulls and crossbones
Look in her eyes, lose yourself in their depths
You’ll experience her constant battle, her forgotten fights,
Her struggles with life, but be wary of her strength
Where she battles her demons all through the nights.
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Look closely and you’ll see her torment swirling the surface
As the demons write their names, etched into her bones,
She welcomes them into her Soul through the darkness
As she is wrapped in her cloak of skulls and crossbones.
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Her Soul is the blood drenched battle ground, trampled
By haunted ghosts of torment and screaming wiles,
A graveyard of broken and forgotten stories of her life
Tales of her gory survival, hidden behind guileless smiles.
***
She is in her element as she wraps herself in midnight
Becoming one with the darkness inside and out,
Broken apart by the moon glow, causing her to howl
Listening for her brokenness as she screams her doubt.
***
In turn, she carves her name on certain tombstones
Cradling the haunted cries of her past love as it dies,
She reduces herself to the ashes for those who hurt her
As she gives the Phoenix her wings, allowing it to rise.
***
She knows she has been forgotten, a whim at most
As they scurry from her path, hiding behind their rock,
She is born of starlight, somewhere far from her world
Lost, unable to find her home, pain her stumbling block.
***
The storm keeps her company, at one with her turmoil
She’s well aware it’s the only friend she can ever trust,
Its honesty in its own destructiveness for full disclosure
Forgoing the need to lie, pretension of love and lust.
***
The more I watch, the more I realise she is broken and lost
As she starts to become one with the darkness, the shadow,
Choosing to move further from the star that she was born into
Meandering through the halls of Hell, cradling her deathblow.
***
She endeavours to merge with her hellfire demons
Preferring the numbness, the desire to torture and kill,
It calms her eternal fires, her raw and bloody chaos
While she makes love to the evil and depraved at will.
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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 (1)
I loved this journey to the dark side