I wasn’t spiraling down in an infinite pit of
despondency because of the woe he floods
into my heart, but because the Earth
lost an obscure, disturbed poetic angel.
She was lonesome with her blood stained
lips and dirty, autumn hair. She longed
for saints and angels to engulf the toxic
fumes raging in her chaotic mind and
in her ponderous heart. All she
needed was love and charisma,
but she was too adamant to beckon for
mercy. If no pills or ferocious human being
was going to steal the oxygen that traveled
to her cloudy lungs, than she herself
would do the deed. She died in a chamber
of poisonous fumes. She took
matters into her own incautious hands.
She stole her own life away-
she took it right out of her soul!