Maybe she was heaven.
A perfect person, an angel,
The epitome of purity.
She was on fire, burning with
A confidence and stunning elegance
That others dream of. She was so grand,
Consuming the world with the heat
That radiated from her fingertips.
She was the bright light that gave hope,
A beacon that snuffed out the dark.

Maybe she was hell.
A blemished person, a minion,
A slave of evil.
She was a blistering cold, freezing
Everyone with her words and icy glares
That others found unbecoming. She was so small,
Standing with her arms crossed as
She watched the world crumble before her.
She was the darkness they feared, her
Frozen heart extinguishing the light.

Or, maybe she was purgatory.
Either too good, or not good enough.
Every choice she made was a contradiction,
Sending her left and right. She was constantly
Changing her mind, torn between the two.
She had a key to both gates, but didn’t like
The look of the locks. She was an outsider,
Choosing to be alone but still longing to fit in.
She was a walking rebuttal, stuck in a realm
Of black and white when she was completely grey.