Her grave was formed by her own hands,

Gun between her shoulder blades the next page turns,

The taste of nickel plating still lingers on her tongue,

Iron wrought strongly on her lips when she kissed him,

Her last breath taken underneath the clouds in her lungs,

“This is the last day on earth.” She prophecies.

So certain in ones own path the diligent millipede marches onward,

Saying goodbye to casual greetings is a certain occurrence,

Our next meeting will be as formal as a wedding all dressed up in black.

Blood drips freely from open veins and arteries,

Feeding their narcissistic destruction,

Feigning security in their brokenness,

Dreams carried her body up to heaven in pictures,

That soul of hers stayed in the cold earth.

Pleasures full of lust and desire for the unobtainable,

Wrote her destiny along her arms before she could become,

Her true and full potential lost forever.

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