Poetry

Fated~

See the ghosts as they walk on by, becoming the very thing they hated,

No depth, no colour, no real soul.

Fated.

Drooping eyes and fake little lies, filled with sickness as you stated,

But a missing friend who'd only pretend she was quite well unacquainted.

Joyous walks and thrill-ridden steps, the trap was set and baited,

But all that lonely ghost would do was wait, oh how she waited.

The mice would scurry out of sight screaming "heartbreaker!", "soul crusher!", "traitor!",

But yet again another dead end,

Fated.