Existential Turnmoil
As raindrops weep upon the barren ground, I'm left to ponder in profound despair. Where has that fragile girl, once pure, been bound? Who snatched her essence, left her soul threadbare? Was it anguish, its grip relentless, tight? Or sorrow's weight, consuming every breath? Or was it time itself, in cruel delight, That stole her innocence, sentenced her to death? But what if she ne'er existed, a mere dream? What if her very being was a guise, Concealing wounds that festered, unforeseen, And now, unmasked, her true self slowly dies? She's lost, ensnared within a prison cell, Her heartache deep, her melancholy vast. With yearning eyes, she waits for heaven's knell, To cleanse the chaos born of her dark past.