She may have closed the door
but you nailed it shut
You refused to hear her weeping
while you sat upon your ****
Your back against the door
Where you occasionally bang your head
Needles hanging from your veins
Demons not waiting for you
To. Be. Dead.
She sat upon the other side
listening through the door
her good eye against the keyhole
until she heard you breathe no more
Along an empty hall of dust
that ends in a pit of flames
that carries centuries of souls
to their everlasting shame
She sat upon that dirt floor
thinking she was the one to blame
if only you had turned the ****
or just whispered her name...