Cherry lips ripe for the taking with a pomegranate cracked hue just to the left corner
Spiced vanilla into twisted locks of dry abstinence in which filled a lusterless waterfall
Crystal and star dust weaved into the midnight ink of dead eyes
Slick satin clinging onto deadened skin, to bring out the warm glows that used to hue the soft skin
Red oak coffin barely containing the life force that once lived in vibrant life, only now been dulled
This thing, a person, the one I used too know, now a painted mask of lies and deceit
Quietly glares back at me as I close the lid to the coffin, pulling back upon rocking heels
As if I am the creator of this "disease"; conforming it to her form, breathing in her soul and life, the soul devourer, if you must
Can one so minute as myself truly have become the cause of this abominable misdeed? Yet, should I feel no remorse as tumult plays me like a startled violin?
A thousand dusty eyes watch me in pairs, two by two they came and went
Observing me kneel beside her raised pedestal, with tear glimmering eyes as mine remain an arid desert
The final riddle in which I cannot fathom, the spinning web catching me in its snare
The deer in the headlights, a fish in the proud eagles grasp, gasping for air
Disoriented turbulence on the inside, with naught a blink to show
Where did the time go, as I sit in tolerated silence, plagues me like shadows
Silence is not intolerable, but mostly, magnificently and implacably trying