A thought consumed her.

A thought consumed her.
One notion, a feeling.
Pure, unshakable.
A determined desire of curiosity
into the deepest recesses of another.
Beauty lied on the surface, ensnaring,
yet the desire burrowed deeper,
crawling in her skin.
Electric, unexplainable pulse.
She feared combustion from speech,
making this notion a reality.
To utter it would be criminal,
but to lock it away
would turn it ugly.
A most vile form
of feeling turned obsession.
All-consuming, imagined reality of the
unattainable.
Unknown eternal silence
is a slow death
remedied only by an end,
the murder of that thought,
that notion which consumed her.
Writing a plan
to demise what she held dear,
embodiments of an arrow, sharp.
She clasped it into her capture's hands.
To give up her thought,
a remarkable weapon,
for the slaughter of its pure joy
by its own hand,
was inconceivable.
Her capture smiled,
shooting the arrow
straight up.
Leave it to fate,
or better known wisdom,
gravity.
She knew,
but still held tight
to one last shard of her thought
as the arrow came down
upon her head.