glossy green eyes gaze out of the little yellow house

the sun gently kisses the snow-covered ground, the white glimmers brilliant as if this was death

the birds sing and dance in matrimony, and the little people in their little houses remain quaint and snug inside

the world is a beautiful place and i am not afraid to die

at the elapse of each hour, the green eyed girl chimes in to the stroke of the clock at the bell tower, and the bells sing one, two, three, four

but time tells her nothing

manic, she panics

the darkness enters her parted lips and takes to her brain, only to sabotage every last ounce of light remaining in the crevices of her brilliance

she drowns in a stagnant river of blood, further coagulated by happening wounds, painfully giving rise to the past, present, while she gasps for breath of the unknown