She’s moving. Slowly.
Breathing. Quickly.Inching closer and closer to death.

The air is now heavy.
Heavy with smoke.
In a bar she walked into,
Giving up on hope.

Their eyes now staring,
Their mouths, whispering;
Grave and unholy things of her past.

Her fingers are twitching,
Her heart beats fast.
She moves to the counter,
And orders a glass.

The air is now frozen.
Her body’s like ice.
Blood flowing smoothly,
Like a bottle of her vice.

Spreading over the counter,
To join her brain matter,
And a smoking revolver beside.

Death hovers over,
Grinning like a child.
Smiling at a victory,
Yet, not so satisfied.

She was stolen he argues,
She was his to keep.
He knew of her plan,
Yet treated it with ease.
Thus late was he,
As was I;
In this world forgotten,
This world of lies.