The day she passed away, she had lost her mind.
Her brokenness, her beauty, was what she had defined.
Her soul was much to damaged, to go on and survive.
She's broken, and she's beaten, but very much alive.
She wears her wings so graciously, unaccompanied, in her own fear.
She laughs irrationally, in her own demented tears.
Nobody understood her, til her passing day.
Her devotion to her loved ones pity, never was okay.
She's a passing angel, lost in her morbid way.
Darkness has surrounded her, with just a little light.
She sits in solitary, no battles and no fight.
She weeps, unprotected, unweildly and inept.
Her passing days, exploring, never has she slept.
Her devotion to her loved ones pity, never was okay.
She's a passing angel, lost in her morbid way.
©terrylin53
T