Work Text:
The Last Good Luthor
On the verge of nothing,
dancing on defeat, past the line of victory,
she stands alone
looking for a different kind of red in a bleeding sky.
On the edge she balances
betrayal and love, tied together by a mocking past,
she stands light
against the inviting push of the wind.
On the line between memory and fantasy
she replays how it should have happened,
she stands cold
from the warmth she has lost.
Her heart is safe as reality crushes her chest,
she gives in to the pain and forgets about blue and gold.
- FallingArtist