Faithful In Her Endeavour To Destruction
As she surrenders to the darkness
She is faithful in her endeavour to destruction,
Showering in muddy puddles in the middle of the night,
Using her problems to wash away her happiness,
Determination flexing her will power, just as muscles might.
***
She self sacrifices in the middle of her joviality,
Convinced she’s the she wolf of the century,
A warrior princess shackling her trauma,
Freeing her mind from its penitentiary.
***
She offers tours through her thoughts,
But insists on a fiery red caveat to be spoken,
Enter at your own risk, don’t say you were not forewarned,
You’re well aware she’s not in one piece, but horribly broken.
***
She traps her feelings underground, blasted in a forgotten mine,
Does she miss the joy, the token emotions long lost,
No I doubt it, in fact she’s too busy for such triviality,
Preferring the treasure hunt without the cost.
***
She wallows in the shallowness of life,
Certain more than ever that the magic has been stolen,
Begging you to prove her wrong, don’t give her hope,
Unless you’ll accept her heartless cries, deeply beholden.
***
She surrenders to the tides of the moon,
Giving up the struggle in the dark of her nightmares,
She used to be immune to the terror of their ways,
But now she wakes in the very moment she becomes aware.
***
She begs to be alone in her misery,
Once down, it is impossible for her to fall,
Destruction has become her middle name in celebration,
Covered in the blood and gore in which she crawl.
***
She is the ultimate champion,
Of defeat, destruction, brokenness and sorrow,
And as she lays her head on the frozen moonbeams,
She wonders if it’ll be any worse tomorrow.
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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.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
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 (3)
She wonders if it'll be any worse tomorrow. This line resonated so much with me. A very relatable poem my friend. I loved it!
"...the ultimate champion of defeat, destruction, brokenness, and sorrow"..."...she wonders if it'll be any worse tomorrow". Honestly, every line and phrase of this poem is brilliant! So real in it's raw symbolism.
Showing defeat and power at the same time. Well done, my friend.