The blood fills the water a sort of crimson her skin grows pale a tear runs down her cheek What has she done, why? a rock of sorts, crumbled to a gravel existence only a shell of a being no one knows enough to care as she decayed in her living body the bound soul, now set free the broken spirit, now set aflight there in her mind was destitute she sifted through the rubble found nothing left, nothing worth saving she saw nothing but decay before her pale, so pale now; quiet, so quiet her body, her mind, her spirit rests now, an everlasting rest her soul, now in neverending slumber