She surveyed me with her vengeful eyes
And within them I saw nullity.
The extinct and empty
Wavering of her soul seeping onto the canvas.
Evermore her statuesque, polite careen
Shall reticulate no paragon.
She is late,
She is chargeless,
She is coming.
Coming to get you.
For you
Stole her melancholy,
Lamentable heart,
Here pained soul,
Her everything.
When her eyes, I beheld,
A thousand deaths I observed,
And every corpse was yours.
She is comming.
She appears angry.
I advise you run.