It was everything wrong she did,
That made it all so good.
Maybe playing pretend, hide and seek wasn't enough,
That she had made herself swallow lies,
And her own wicked deeds, tasting…
There wasn't anything to satiate her appetite,
He only threw her an occasional word or two,
And she took it earnestly,
Ardently,
As if there were no tomorrow.
Marrow and bone,
From it she build her dwelling,
From it came her foretold demise.
Crushed under her mantled sight,
Yet she did go happy,
Having believed she was loved,
Truth wasn't so puissant now,
It couldn't harm her way,
She died with nothing but her murder's belief.