She walked through that door
With crumbled tiny flowers
In her pink palm

She buried those little petals
Near the stone
With his name
Engraved on it

She could no longer cry

Pale hands, white face
Ballet shoes and blood-stained dress

There was no soul inside

She fancied that shiny metal
And the red liquid so thick
Oozing from her innocent wrist
Under the dim light

She closed her tired eyes
Whispered his beautiful name
And drifted away to meet him.