Darkness creeps in ever so slowly like
an eerieness that grabs hold of the soul.
Curdling blood that coagulates in the
night, while it cannot seep slowly from
wounds, it globs and makes a mess as
it splats upon the floor just the same.

She sits there, propped up against the
wall, where she died long ago. Her blood
congealed with time, yet still drips a little
at a time. It's only her soul that keeps
the red oozing through the tiny wound in
her chest, where her heart was torn
out. Love lost long ago killed her slowly,
the ache finally took its toll upon the body.

Now, this husk is all that is left, to seep
into the ground and gather cobwebs as
well as dust. She withers slowly in time,
as her love of life tried to hold her together,
for as long as it could. But her beauty now
falters, giving way to the hands of time's
rugged chisel and hammer. Her flesh no
longer pale but now pallid in complexion,
grey instead of a ruddy white. And those
eyes, sad they still are but no longer glassy.
Murky they are with cataracts full of plight.