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As She Dies

Poetry By: Love Reaper

Some might call it poetry, others a short story, but what ever you call it, it is art, that is all that matters.

Submitted:May 5, 2009    Reads: 132    Comments: 2    Likes: 2   

The Beginning

She's leaning against a wall wondering where she's going in life. Tragic, pain, destruction, great loss, it's all she knows. She's tired. All of her enemies disguised as friends and family have ruined her. Love floats by a few times, feeling fortunate every time, she takes the bait, only to find out that it was a trap and she will forever be tortured and left to die so the animals who have tamed her can eat off of her rotting flesh.

Caught and Raped

She's alone, always. Sure she has a mother, sure she has a father, but when abandonment comes into play, who can really live up to that title? She's an angel trapped in a demons body, waiting, yearning, screaming, and crying to fly free, but forever pulled back in her own fiery abyss. Rather than living in separate homes then from in a broken one, she is cursed with both. In the Devil's world she can never run away. The past continues to haunt her and her future is fading in front of her eyes. Why can't people see? Why don't they realize that this special girl needs to be loved, truly loved with no mind games being played?

Here She Lays

When will she have her happy ending? Her life is coming to an end. You know she is about to die as the music within her plays sobbing pianos and precious violins. A tone so sacred that only the, ready to decease, can recognize its beauty. She wants to be taken away. Either rescued by her prince charming or saved to not live in a hell called Earth by the famous Grim Reaper. She wants to cry, but tears are pointless now. Not only is it already too late to regain the purity lost, but now she is forever killed when she wakes to see the cruel filthy world. The day she rests and never wakes, is when she truly lives. Even though her dreams have been snatched from beneath her, she lives her dream.

The End

The world forgets who she is, but only she is to remember... If no one pays attention to her, how do I know her so well? I'm a thing called her heart. The heart that disgusting animals called humans took from her, stabbed, stepped on, and shattered a million more times when she would hint the courage to try to live her life with her own unlimited strength. Oh how I miss the days to never have been born.


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