The tones of her voice
Thick as chords
Intertwining, into the rope
That pulls us all together
Upright, loud and clear
Reasonable
Like a butter knife
She moulds the tension
Into laughter, memories
Sustained by sincere, gentle
Family hands
Disease.
Limbs thwarted by
The selfish poison
Organ after organ
Swiping them aside
Spine carved over
Now she can only look down
Thick blood, congealed
Giving up, sticking to her veins
Breath recoiling, preferring
The air clean outside her lungs
The flame is failing
Composure, flailing
What else is left
Ending.
Was there no other decayed soul
To choose from
That you had to pick the purest
From your hat of gold
Not laughing now
Memories stained
By withered hands
It won't stop raining
Fading plans
You've done it now
The world can't keep turning
Love is burning
The weak won't rise again.
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