She was an epitome of apathy,
Only if she knew the knack.
She shakes upon,
killing being a cardinal sin.
deep angelic incision,
pricks the veins, arteries, bones, flesh,
so deep, blood in its comedic tragedy,
thick yet so viciously viscous,
captivates her inborn innocence,
turns it into nomadic treachery.
She embarks upon her life after death,
Would be justified only if she sipped,
Poisoned potion off the urban glass.
Lack of insight,
Lack of brilliant ambiguous dreams,
She lies down,
Standing upon fear,
Like sheep upon lion.
Drowned in her REDness,
She slowly closes her dried eyes,
And gambles her watery lips into a crescent.
Only to be remembered as a lost soul.
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