The gods scamper when she smiles. They’ve seen that shimmer in her eyes, right before she goes wild...

She used to write

love letters.

Sonnets of pleasure.

It was a trickle of

passionate sway,

amidst the darkness

she tucked away.

For she wasn’t

quite an angel,

as some were prone to say...

She was more complex moments, hidden behind a twisted frame...

Origami prose became

all that she wrote.

She forgot what

feelings felt like,

when she became a ghost.

Bold, triumphant, yet always sad. She wore away colors of the rainbow, for they drove her mad. Barefooted soul, her shackles drawn...

She used to write broken vows, till the storms were gone...

-HMG