She: Her own demon

Her brows are a patchwork,
of her fading hope,
she sees threads unravel,
unable to cope.

The doubt that entwines her,
within her vacant soul,
herself formed an enemy,
who from within her controls.

Her spirit escapes her,
a demon now endures,
the passionless apathy,
from her sanity lures.

With cold hearted might,
she releases the pain,
knowing this empty shell
never shall fight again.

Each thought formed to harm her,
in pretentious clay,
made with her own secret poison,
a stale vessel turned gray.

To form her new mask,
she now pours the mould,
using all the self hate,
her heart used to hold.

She pours her own potion,
from within her iced heart,
with this forgotten disgust,
a transformation to start.