Tired

She, tired of kindness born from hypocrisy and sense of superiority.

When it waved, truth spawned from darkness. Remained an empty shell, trust was never there.

W hen her last fragment of hope shattered, all that left behind was devastated innocence and pierced armor as universe, as burden.

But pictures she painted were still colorful and precious to her. Melodies and voices filled the picture.

From the newly formed crack of her armor emerged the rays.

Rays, that led her to liberty. She was free.

Perpetrator who antagonized her this whole time, were easy to explain. Despite the clear disparity in their voices, they kept provoking almost as if they were mad beings begging to be free.