These eyes weep not for soul, but for selfishness.
The small hands which clutch to his holds not for love, but only for support.
Shamble through the dark house; she is alone.
Sorrow, joy, anger, and pain all build up in one large swell of emotion; oh, how these fragile things break.
Her will was crushed as he left,
his last kiss was poison, now coursing through her veins,
what is there to do?
She’ll cry in shame.
And in the joy of her last breath,
she’ll take his picture from the shelf.
In the struggle of finding herself, she will realize in this world
once again she is alone.