Life struck cruel like rogue lightening;
Her celebrated optimism and artistic zeal expired
she crumpled into a withdrawn puddle;
Ignored by those normal members of society,
left alone, her poetic heart, hopes and dreams voided,
profusely bleeding as she lay dying in the corner shadows;
Evanescence of her shimmering identity,
bleeding great pools of quasar syllables,
words running quickly, thickly red
in between the lines of her poetry.
And who would even recall her
words, spilled her vivacious ink,
quickly forgotten, a quietly deleted legacy