She sleeps quietly
Beneath opaque mahogany
Life seeped from her veins
No more blood drains away
No more hurt will find her
White sheets glistening with rain
Now crusted over with decay
Eyes set stone, glazing over
Light won’t refract from glassy orbs anymore
Broken machine parts
Carefully placed together
Under boxes better kept hidden
Entombed in earth’s clay
Lips sewn shut
Air can’t escape and float into stories
Like butterflies lightly landing
Then flying away
Her story remains forever embedded into her heart
Along with pink carnations
Scattered petals
And empty shells
Ghosts of machinery’s success