Somewhere in the deep of an empty room

Crimson flowers bloom on the palest of sheets,

Her lashes clogged with dust, she sleeps.


A letter that foretold her doom,

Sits lost within the tear-stained glass

She clutches tighter than her past.


Somehow her sorrow did consume.

Her fingers tell their fractured tale, nails worn to splinter

Vanished inside the icy grasp that plunged her into winter.


Somewhere in the bewildered tomb

Her hair is woven with spider silk,

No echoes will ever reach her through the walls that she has built.



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