Just why?

The architecture of the mind is glass,

A fragile spire of thought and light,

But you arrived with heavy hands of brass

To turn the midday harvest into night.

 

Each word you carved was jagged, sharp, and cold,

A scalpel tracing lines where nerves reside,

You broke the fragile truths she tried to hold,

And left the inner sanctum open wide.

 

The echoes of your venom never ceased,

They rattled in the chambers of the skull,

Till every spark of purpose was released,

And all the vibrant colors bled to dull.

 

Now silence fills the void that you defined,

A hollow ache where meaning used to play;

You shattered the horizon of her mind,

And burned the map that led her through the day.