The pearl necklace fell
From her ivory neck
They did scatter amoungst
The cracks and crevasses
Of the empty tomb
Emotions that had long
Since been scattered
Scurrying along the stone
To the sound of rats and mice
She counted as they ran
From her fingertips
Not wanting capture
By her cold cold hands
Not wanting to entrapment
On a cold cold neck
The string had broken
Much as her spirit
The golden clasp has rusted
Much like her heartstrings
She sat down alone
As withered as the roses
In the vase dusty crystal vase
Remembering a time before
When youth was best wasted
In the undergrounds of Paris
Where beauty, her beauty
Reigned effulgent
When she never gave a thought
To anything other than dark desire

She feels my presence around her
She knows that I have come
I pick up the white orbs
That did escape from her
To place them all
Back in her rigored
Dead hand