Once, there was a girl
Who was pitiable,
Poisoned by the demons
Of the nightshade.
Unable to cope with
The fact that the world
Was against
Her tiny broken heart
She plummeted
From the tree that once
Touched the Round Moon.

This heaviness in my chest is a grim room.
One cherished by a fool,
something that will never come to light.
It is a constantly dim room,
never lightening,
only strangled into night.
There is a lone rocking chair
in the room, cast out of yew.
My madness here is aplenty
and my silver thoughts a few.
My heart is made
of gray rotten walls
and deadly nightshade.
Maybe one day,
when a certain light
passes though the curtains,
I will walk out the door.