Corruption is never beautiful, that’s something i have always believed in until I saw the way her soul looked like. It was corrupted and destroyed into little pieces but it looked like art and writing about it couldn’t be harder. Her sharp edges didn’t scare me,I embraced her with my shaking hands and hoped she wouldn’t feel the vibration of my sorry heart. she had the most unsettling poetic thoughts. she cries poetry and smokes dreams,she hopes for a better life where she doesn’t feel as homeless as she does now. she writes the way an angel does and aches the way a devil does, she wants to write to free her angel but the devil is taking control of her pen. She will break you, shatter you until you can’t see the light, but she’ll hold your hand and guid you in the darkness, show you her veins until your sight returns, you’ll see the universe in her palm, she is a creature of Venus or maybe the stars. You could never know her not the way you want, the puzzle you’re trying to solve is missing a piece. I see her in everything surrounding me,the rays of sunshine and the whispers of the night,I see parts of her in me and parts sprawled around existence itself. She sometimes seems like a fancy, a greek god you read about or a song you listen to,I sometimes feel like she only exists in my mind. She is a storm, a hurricane but for some weird reason Im not scared to drown in every inch of her soul