The cool, black fabric,
Pooling at my feet,
Such a delicate puddle,
Is this how it will feel,
The next time,
I slide off this dress,
Will it fall to the floor,
As gracefully, as effortlessly,
Along with the crimson tears,
Will it look so beautiful,
Behind the veil of eyeliner,
Slipping beneath my eyes,
Running down my already stained cheeks,
Or will it become,
A dark, unholy thing,
A cruel reminder,
Of his final resting place,
And the hymns echoing from the dim church,
Where we'll say goodbye