She was an artist, said
the brushes still in water
the room covered head to toe
with papers covered in lead
She was scared of something,
said the pocket knife sitting
next to the lamp
She was an escapist, said
the boxes filled with stories of heroes
and lands far far away
She wasn't happy said the pillows still
wet with tears and the painting of a man she once
knew sitting at her bedside
Fear not for this girl, she's resting her head on
another's last resting place
