Unyielding, familiar walls,
hostile.
A damp cloth, wet.
Dyed in red.
The air, stale, still,
Witness, to a defeated battle.
It seemed calm.
Eerie, quiet.
Unsettling, like her
drowning heart.
its thud slowly fading out.
Chaos had won, she gave in.
This was a first,
more like the last.
Her King was dead,
it was her turn now.
She stood staring at the furnace.
The one which burned
him down.
It did'nt matter.
Not anymore.
Just a little further.
Slicing her skin deeper.
She thought she'd make it home.
He, was home
suicidal. (no worries exploring genres)