So it is

...

Her tears were her only virgin light—

A spark of morality beset by blight.

Her eyes had long since

Been accustomed to each venal spiteful sight,

Her eyes had long since

Been acquainted with each vocal bite.

...

Her body was used, her head was abused,

Her love was loveless and lost;

But the tears were still free of reproach,

As virgin and light as soft, glistening frost.

...

But when she cried the world did not cry

When she cried the world didn’t try

To be consoling or moral, simple or just,

Refusing quite blankly to show any trust.

...

Her tears fell in vain; the world felt no pain.

Her mind, body, heart were murdered for naught,

As her morals were lost, neglected to rot,

As her virtuous tears of pain were flooded by the freezing rain.

...

Some considered her death quite untimely;

Most agreed it was sudden, passing sublimely,

But, if truth be told, she had long since died,

Her heart and mind murdered inside.

...

C’est Fini