As she cries,
Her tears become
ice,
Numbing her face.
She feels as if she can't
breathe.
Her pain,
She wishes she could bury,
With the
roses she is turning into ash.
While she begins to turn into
stone...
In her fear,
She shakes.
Cries out in
despair.
What did I do wrong? she screams into the empty
air,
What did I do wrong...?
Watching helplessly as a
rose petal is so wrathfully torn from her fingers,
By a dry
wind.
It is going to rain...
She sighs into the
emptiness about her,
Only brittle and dead roses are her solemn,
silent company.
I feel as they feel.
Cold, numb fingers
run up and down her arms,
She wish she could feel warmth again,
In
her frail fingers,
In her dying body...
The feeling in
her feet is gone,
She sees that they are turned to the feet of a
statue,
Grey crawling up her skin,
She shrieks in the agony
clawing at her from within her fragile mind,
Why?
But
she finds no answer.
Only rain and tears,
A destiny she can
not hide from.
Tears turning into gray,
As more agony tears
at her.
Why must it be this way?
No answer,
Only
thunder in the ever-so-far away skies.
Unable to move,
As the
greyness creeps up even farther over her body,
Constricting her
movement,
Weighing down on her lungs,
Can't cry out
any more.
Needing to save all the breath she can,
Even
though I am dying...
She whispers,
Pain cracking her
voice.
Wind tosses her hair,
Damp, icy air sweeps over
her,
Dead, brittle leaves being tossed up into the storm.
Rain
falls.
Silently,
She cries.
Tears and prayers cannot help
me...
Silence,
But the thunder.
Lithe stone
figure,
Caught in the rain.
Face of agony.
Girl turned to
stone.