The wind whistled a lullaby,
Kissing her goodbye.
As it raced through her forehead,
Before she dropped dead.
The floor had become a crimson pool,
Filled with the last remnant of the fool.
She thought she could tame the beast,
But, instead she became his feast.
It was a silent night,
And while she had put up a brave fight.
But, in the end three bullets made their way,
And they ended her stay.
Now on the floor she lies dead,
Her blood has painted the floor red.
We watch in horror, as numb as ice.
While rain pours down our eyes.










Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.