Queen of Nothing

Poetic Short.

She was floating in the water.
I remember her ivory skin,
Her hands bruised of ice,
and her thin eyes tender,
As they gazed upward, reflecting the twilight sky.
Her soaked black hair formed a crown,
And her swollen lips laced a frown.

She was beautiful, if not radiant,
As firelight soldiers gathered ‘round, to mourn her barren soul of withering flies.

I wonder what she was called,
This queen of nothing,
With eyes of stars,
And rotten stone.

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