Chains rattle through the witching hour
And a tense grapnel around her lungs
Forcing an overwrought gasp,
Beads of sweat moistening her soft skin
Glistening under the moonlight
That comes in through fragmented glass
And the shards of transparency surround her cradling bed.

Her sweat shines
But not the broken glass,
Seemingly invisible, it lures her into a trap.
She steps her bare feet down, touching the shrapnel.
She shrieks in consternation,
Feels blood touching her cutis
And a solitary tear runs along her left cheek.

She careens her way back on to the mattress
And her sanguine feet tag along,
Staining the cloth freshly laid out
Patterned with flowers and autumn leaves.
Afraid to wound herself once more,
She quietly sobs herself to sleep
And sheds the last tear.

Sirens blare and the sun shines ever so bright,
A hundred people surround the scene
Letting their eyes go wild like the rain
And heaving in long breaths.
With pierced flesh and a lifeless smile,
She went out like a light as she wept her last,
And now she's the lurking shadow of the morgue.