Her back was to the wall,
Her head was in her hands,
Her hair began to fall,
And she separated strands.
The light began to dim,
And the curtain was too tall,
The light that was within,
Wasn't bright enough at all.
The oxygen it floated,
And she took a breath of air,
Her lungs as they deflated,
Were filled with dark despair.
It pooled along her window,
And it slid along her waist,
What a pretty, tinted, all-time-low,
With whatever was entraced.
Soft and light, her heart beats,
Like it had never beat before,
They said it was just skin and meat,
Something that could be restored.
The colorless, and emptiness,
Was only decor to her face,
Like death had come with calluses,
And stolen all her grace.
The sun would rise at dusk,
As she became dust once again,
And what's left will leave a musk,
That will never die again.
