My dreams lay on the floor like shattered glass, reflecting back the reality of my soul. What once had lighted my path through the forest crumbled before my eyes and inside. The light to your darkness; the hero to your villan; the sun to your moon was vanquished to dust. The ashes were scattered like confettee, small, meaningless and thrown into nothing.
Corrupted hopes and false generated expectations stayed as the last point of salvation, though they are what caused the despair to grow from the pit of your stomach to the brain in this skull. Every black has its white and every yin has its yang, you are the blanket to my shadowed town. The blanket fell and choked and suffocated, stopping a single anxious breath from escaping these lifeless lips. Death could not come upon her. She had the cause of dusk planted in her being; her heart was just beating. Hiccups of blood colouring her cheeks, showing signs of life behind those blurred windows, and disappeared.
The midnight morning which was sewn onto their faces twisted with the thunder that erupted from within them. Stuck in the hurricane of deceit, spinning right back to where it first began, the moment the rite of passage forced its way through this innocent soul.
Life is a single tree which spurts up from the ground for limited hours that are counted on the frail fingers of men and then is destroyed and replaced. The bloody ghost wanders around and around, searching, hunting, wishing for the answers. But the remains have been disposed of. It never existed.
For she had turned cold. Her body had been sculpted out of ice, a living embodiment of glaciers and deep within the chest beated her empty ice heart. She was supposed to be alive, but all that seemed to escape from her faded lips was breath after breath after breath.