And so she sits within her stark hallway,

The one that leads to death,

But she is not, however, moving close—

Away from she, this Beth.

In her disguise, a front, rejecting hope,

She changes shape to fit.

She is dejected, spite is lost inside

When numbness strikes her wit.

Is her demise a justified deceit?

A man would do the same.

Is she at fault to live her life in angst,

Her mind born into shame?

When her deliv’rance thrives until she wakes,

Her sleep brings thoughts life needs.

She has, in truth, a lacking sympathy

When drinking life to lees.