"Maiden of mercy,
oh how she blinds me.
Swirling, sublime majesty,
flying wherever the winds may carry.

Borne on wings of downy white
shimmering in the fragile moonlight.
At the mercy of her own delight,
she dances away another night. "

---

I guess this is what's generally called "vent poetry". I dunno, I don't much care for labels, but some people like to know what they're getting into ahead of time. It's probably something like that - I've been working on this as much as my tired mind will let me the last couple days, so it surely bled through.

There's a duality to this poem I want to make obvious, just in case it's not. There's parts where "He", the masked boy, is talking in first person, presumably to his notepad but that's up to you. Then there's parts in third person through the POV of the "Maiden", aka everything else. It's probably obvious, but I'm worried about it so I'm elaborating it anyway.

This is another one of those poems I write where I feel really unsatisfied with the result, but if I wait to edit it later, I'll probably just delete it and forget it ever existed. I'm notoriously a bad judge of my work so I'll let you all decide. I've grown to not care about the subject matter I write about, so it's not that it's too personal or anything... I just don't like wasting people's time with crappy poetry.

Anyway, thanks for reading. Comments/critiques are always welcome. My creative spark has all but extinguished itself the last couple weeks, so don't expect much from me for a while. That's what happens when you're changing meds all over the place for months straight, I guess. I wouldn't mind so much if something would actually work, but what can you do. Til next time, whenever that is.