Echoes of her mind.

She walked in circles and circles inside her mind.
It was dark, gloomy, very different, and unkind.

There were many cob webs in pictures of her smile.
The dust had settled, dawn never came, for a while.

She heard the birds chirp, the sun had come out to play.
Days turned into seasons, it never turned into day.

She heard echoes of loved ones speaking to her still.
The lonely road lead her no where, evil lurked for the thrill.

But success was a lonely road, the bridge had burned.
She was isolated in her own mind, alone, this was the moment she had earned.

Pouring herself a glass of crimson red wine,
the birds chirped in darkness, quite devine.

Lost at sea, in battle, she was her own worst enemy to be.
The sword had been struck, in her chest with one last plea.

The wine has spilt across the path in which she laid still.
The sun came out, but darkness still lingered just for the thrill.