Her Insanity Paces

Walking drifted on a beat,
a track of lilies,
memoir of beauties,
in this gray dull land,
which used to shine voluminously.

Steps taken strictly for today,
pacing forward,
and pacing backward,
thinking within,
to make that final step,
to plunge into her death.

Exhausted flowers droop,
a tint of black,
and she keeps walking,
tears wet the dry cracked ground,
insanity is born,
and this she takes no more.

--All Poems by Tia E
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