Ashok

She's pale and broken,
defeatedly washed in blood.
Her weapon stains pleasant nights,
perched high above this flood.

She chokes back tears,
catching the crumpling faces of love.
She sways, tipping on the edge,
threatening to crash above.

Torrants of harsh voices swarm her ears,
pleading her to contemplate the solid Earth.
She throws her head in rueful laughter,
wanting so badly to reverse her birth.

She's dragged out of her will,
stumbling past the cold shoulders blowing her north.
She drowns in her own mess of spilt sadness,
to fix her now requires little force.

She gropes hungrily at helping hands,
left alone in empty rooms.
Hushed tears pressed against barred windows,
as she cries longingly to the moon.

She wishes "Forget me,"
killing herself to break free.