She sits on the ground,

Blood frozen and dried,

On her hands,

From all the lonely truths,

And friendly lies,

She lies on the floor,

Surrounded by all those,

Who spilled their blood,

By the all sins they made,

By all the saints they paid,

She plays with untold truths,

Soiled and tarnished by vacant lies,

Stained by innocence,

Varnished and torn,

She stop breathing,

Stops talking and listening,

Killed by all their ugly,

Yet beautiful lies.