She was Cassandra, her lips spilled fire,
but the world called it rain, let it drown in the mire.
She screamed of the storm that would split them apart,
they laughed as the thunder cracked through her heart.

She was Cassandra, the Gods’ cruel jest,
whispers of ruin stitched into her chest.
Her visions were rivers that bled through her hands,
but they called her deluded, dismissed her demands.

She was Cassandra, lost in the tide,
haunted by voices that howled at her side.
They said she was broken, a mind set aflame,
but she only repeated the truth in her name.

She was Cassandra, sleepless, unchained,
a prophet of sorrow the Fates had ordained.
Her dreams were in fragments, her thoughts turned to rust,
they gave her white pills but they crumbled to dust.

She was Cassandra, locked in the night,
a girl made of warning, a soul set alight.
No one believed when she cried of the fall
so she leapt from the edge, proving them all.