Monday, May 3, 2010

A Wild, Passionate Form.

Death becomes her:
it takes her by the hand,
and leads her home.
She never had a chance,
no one would.

Death became her:
it hurt.
She cried and begged.
Scratches on it's back,
tears on her chin.

Death before her:
Kneeling in a soft elegance,
it took whatever was left.
It felt no remorse,
it only felt right.

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