she didn't have to check the clock to know it all happened at 12:42, the moment the demons tried to beat her numb;
she could hear them scream,
she could feel them run,
she could see them cry.
she could sense the monsters,
they were dancing in the night.

she walked out the door at half past 3 to find a trail of unpleasant rose petals; they brought her to the dark.
there: outside; the hopeless shadows stood.
one that tried to break the chains
but broke the bonds, too.
one that tried to spread its wings
but exploded like a firework.
no matter how much they try,
everyone knew they can never change.
so, instead, they cover everything up
as if it were all just a game.

she woke up, later on, exactly six hours after and warned everyone with stares; asking questions words cannot answer.

"to forget me," you once said,
publicly but indirect,
and i was sure you shred
the memories we spent
when i was overjoyed
and you were never bent,
but broken was how you left.

i can't seem to contemplate
in proper words to say
these fragments on a plate
of glass you threw away
towards our horrid fate,
you knew what was coming our way,
but you didn't push me away.

is revenge what you seek
for what was said and done?
you know when i am weak
and convinced me to chose to run
away from you're meek,
quiet, dark verge upon
what lies inside of my physique
of such odd unknown ethic.

you planned to plunge me into the darkness
too late for i've long been caged by madness.

the darkest parts of a human soul
reveals as rare as a full moon
it stands and watches in the cold
and silently waits for a dying ghost
it takes in all life, deactivating function
and throws out the remnants into the void

it comes out when you're used
leaving in a flash like the caudacutus
avenging the spirits that are cursed
for merely laying down their lives
breaking more bones than contrived
causing darkness to the likes

it leaves trails of red tears
on the floor and under water
from the lives of the spiritless
thinking there couldn't be another
but truly knowing in realness
that to be saved is not top-drawer

the veracity hurts comparable
to the sound of helpless screaming
when there is so much possible
and choosing not to do a thing