Stitches, seeping through your skin,

Dying angel eyes looking up at you.

Beautiful black eyes,

Light in them,

Flickering so painfully,

Cold, pale fingers reaching to grasp your hand,

Trying to comfort you as you cry,

Ebony tears stroking the dusty floor of this elegant death-cell,

This crypt.

She wants you to cease crying,

To relieve your pain,

Though you should be the one trying to save her,

As she dies,

The beauty with black wings,

And midnight-blue stitches in her flesh.

Losing her dark angelic life.

Exquisite white body,

Swathed in tattered funereal black taffeta,

Lying in her weakness upon a spider web-cluttered casket of cement,

Lovely once-pink lips,

Turning blue and white,

Her wings crushed beneath her,

As a black widow crawls over her fluttering eyelids.

You clasp her hand,

Brushing a kiss over her ice-cold knuckles,

So frail and cold.

So white.

Ebony butterflies gather around your face,

Licking away your tears,

As more and more fall.

Beautiful black-eyed whispers so noiselessly,

Dust swirling in soft clouds from her cool lips.

You cannot hear as she murmurs into the dank air of this tomb,

Leaning closer to her,

Aching to comprehend her dying words,

To hear anything she says as she tilts her head to look into your eyes.

A single black tear drop slips down her ever so pale cheek,

I'll see you in the darkness.

Limp hand drops from yours,

You can no longer see the shadows of her eyes,

Hidden behind her pallid eyelids,

Interlaced with blue and purple veins,

Holding her dead hand to your lips,

Gazing achingly at the cement roses and dead white lilies of the vault,

Run your eyes over the iron chrysanthemums that decorate the ceiling.

More tears falling.

Pick up the delicate ivory lily,

And place it in her stitched-up fingers,

Laying her hands on her chest.

Take the poison to your lips.

To join her...