A Virgin's Death

By Ananya Behera

Played as an instrument,

As static as a beautiful painting,

‘hanging’ on the wall, is the epitome of all facets soft and fragile.

Her skin being the holy grail of her existence,

in the skin lies all the sensitivity, sparks of life force.

Yet, that dies in the sinister fantasies and touches of lust.

She is despised as the ‘used’,

ironic, as her core is eternal,

as magnificent to carve little vessels of consciousness.

Pretty are her senses, destruction is her potential,

that bloody labyrinth die in the dark of this bloody myth.

By Ananya Behera