Skin similar to that of a crocodile.
Smell of stale cigarettes and boxed wine suspended in the air like an infant's mobile.

Eyes sunken so far they hide amidst the shadows of their sockets.
Sleep is but a poorly understood concept,
like love, and death.

The clothes of several days ago have grafted to the skin.
Lips as cracked and barren as the dry desert ground,
eyes as deep as the abyss, equally as empty.

She stopped caring for herself, as you stopped caring for her.
A once beautiful, lively creature, remains motionless on the floor,
underneath a night sky of great uncertainty and hopelessness.