She was dead already when you found her,
but yet she smiled at you shyly, avoiding your gaze.
That first night, when you laughed together
as you walked side by side beneath the moon
that shown between the cobwebs, you fell for her.
And she fell for you.
But she was dead.

When winter came, and you huddled together
as the snow fell and deadened the noisy avenues,
she told you that she was in terrible, terrible pain.
You can't see it, she said, but it's like my very soul
has been ripped from me. You said you loved her.
And she said she loved you.
But she was dead.

Do you remember the first time your gazes locked
but the light behind your eyes had begun to fade?
Her breath trembled lightly as she noticed,
and quickly grabbed your hand. I'm fine,
you said. She kissed you gently and made you promise.
You promised.
You promised.

Today she woke with a start to the sound
of her own heart beating. Beating! But swiftly
her overwhelming joy turned to cold dread,
as icy as a frozen spire. I'm.... alive... but where is she?
Her anguished screams broke the grey dawn,
holding tight your gentle form, slowly cooling.
I love her with all my life!
But she is dead