When the utmost agony of her accustomed universe, crawl to reach the edge of her vessel;
She considered herself the ‘Sires’ of the night sky.
Encapsulating her occulted glint, in midst of her prolonged rebel:
Her flattered wings were slashed by her monarch, converting them to a paralyzed body to fly.
The firm grip of a nuptial bond, that embraces her vermilion mark:
Sickling her soul today within the four walls, where once she adored the comfort and love.
But what about her being the brightest star? Who was covering her existence with her hallucinated spark;
And then a scream whirl all around, divulging the chronicles of her oblivion nerve.
The cicatrix of her L'amour, was alike as a tarn of bloodspots;
Saturating herself in midst of frost, she plead for her life in starlight.
Her entity was glooming, with her marks of clots:
As dusky as the demolishing twilight.
Then suddenly her noose clinched, clinched by the bashful torment of chauvinism:
Where her lascivious monarch emerge every night, scattering on her the light of his patriarch’s prism.
©flik
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