She continues to Hunt,
The Priestess,
In all her darkness and trauma,
The romantic in her remains radiating,
A switch she cannot stop,
The hunger begins again,
She is tired, but the curiosity always live,
The repetition of pain is frightening,
But she is a Warrior,
A fighter for Women and Men,
A lady of adornment, of nurture, of Healing,
The Wild continues,
There is too much to deconstruct, reprogramme new neural pathways,
Too much to love,
Though emptiness cages her,
The mere thought of what her future could be,
Charges her through the darkest of winters,
She drowns in her tears most nights,
Other nights she gazes to the stars,
Letting the cosmos eat her alive,
The Moon lights up her lifeless heart,
She needs to be sent to the Sun,
It has been noted such a Woman needs to be golden to live.
She is attempting to shift and alchemise this darkness,
This black, the excruciating silence,
The loneliness kills,
But the People,
People is what she lives for,
sometimes.
The Love is alive.