Jun 15

Crimes of the lonely

She once stepped too close to the sun
Now she breathes fire into the ocean
And the tempest dances
She once danced in the stars 
But her feet became cut 
And bled from her prances.
She once enhaled the rain
Letting it cool her words
But sometimes water can’t put out a fire
She once loved to much
Pretended she was free
And was burned by desire.
She once spread her wings
Leaped
And wished to fly
She once had a friend 
Who loved her
But she made her hold up her sky.
About the Author: LadyMidnight
"There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemmingway
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