| Current mood: |  sad |
| Current music: | the martyr |
In this empty room
All the chairs are unoccupied
The open casket
Holds a body that lived
Way too long past the death
Of her soul
Her long black hair faded gray
Her open black eyes
Allowed tears to escape
The cool night
Apologized for being late
And with its breath
Collected her into its arms
And sung a lullaby of rain
As the banshees shrilled
They too, delayed
There was no name
Upon the tombstone
For she never truly existed
And the grave was dug out
By those she cared for
The ones that killed her
And her last breath
Was a question to God above
Even in her final moments
He did not answer her
He hushed her crying and
He laughed when he cut her veins
She lifelessly fell back onto her bed
And painted her sheets red with her wrists
A fountain that bled out her entire story
And she lied there until
Morning would find her
Daylight touched her pale face
Neutral on the discovery
The bell didn't ring
The people muttered
"She was just a ghost trapped inside a body"
They took her body
And carried it to
this empty room where
No tears are shed
She never truly existed
~ "Late" by Monique G.
(Post a new comment)
|
