Lost-To-Fade Poem by Raynolds Moseamedi

Don't say it like a breeze on the move
It wasn't a piece of broken glass
Nor was it her black cat
Don't say it like she was a mess
Her blood found the rails of pain
In the cold of her hands,

What she did was sane and humane
She was tired and chained her life her worst stands
And virtue became too much for her to bear,
In our fantasies we've all felt the fire
Some became the flames and sought care
Some found the flames with a wanderlust desire
But she sought to burn to bleed
Till all that was burning inside burns no more
So she reached above her mind to slit a seed
With a piece of glass that unseen by any of her figments before
An art so remarkably unsight on the room floor
Her blood was the paint and
In the moment of her struggles her hands were the brush.
...

I found her not alive but dead
In her smile... so beautiful and happy
The smile told a tale...
A tale of liberation.