I wore a veil under the shroud of night,
Laced in stars and candlelight.
Perfume thick with sins I crave,
Picking flowers for my grave.

Lust bloomed first in crimson wine,
Dripping down lips that once were mine.
Gluttony, a sugared rose,
Fed me dreams of overdose.

Greed grew gold on every stem,
But nothing's ever enough for them.
Sloth laid lilacs on my chest:
Soft and slow, so I took my rest.

Wrath was thorns beneath my lace,
Love turned bitter, sweetness erased.
Envy wrapped in ivy vines,
Choked the breath from me, blurring the lines.

And Pride, that peacock-colored bloom,
Adorned me for my walk to doom.
With every petal, every sigh,
I walked the aisle and said my goodbyes.

A bouquet bound with satin thread,
For vows I whispered to the dead.
And as the bells softly weep for my demise
I smiled and remind, "Death will be my bride."