There's no rest for the dead....

And she rests her head on weak shoulders to cry out the solitude that had long forsaken her from the grace once promised. She was never to return again, the child with closed eyes had now become the adult with open eyes, eyes that would never kiss sleep, and dance filled with dreams and nightmares. They would never foresee the unhappiness and ruin about her, much nearly ignore it. For she was deserted. Only the murky emptiness of heart remained in her. Breaths were not taken for they were too costly. She had to let go of all the beautiful melancholy things she had once possessed. She was to give away her anguished pit of a heart again. For what? For whom? Run to those cancerous arms, kiss those infected lips. Embrace the rotted remains of whom you loved. For he is no longer here for you. He left. Like them. It is only you that is sleepless in your grave, that you yourself have excavated. For you will not rest, you will have no remnants of your former self. I let go of you, to betray you with my new life. Cherish what I have sacrificed for you. No one will carry this scar with them, no one shall bear your pain. I am swarming with your tasteless poetry. I am here lingering for your delightfully sinful murderous kiss. The stroke that shall forever cease my untimely everlasting desolation, like the snow that melts on my lips.