She's pale like death or moonstars... <br />I wonder if she was born of dark or light? <br />They call her Winter... <br />Becuase her kiss will be your last. <br /> <br />And I survived and tasted another. <br />'Stupid girl, ' she snarled. 'I am Absinthe.' <br /> <br />I staggered back, dead inside, <br />Reeling from the reality of your <br />Hate <br />And I wonder... <br />Will I ever be sane without my absinthe?<br /><br />Alyce Crowley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/absinthe-2/
