Witch of the Dead.

She sits beneath
The dead tree
Where flowers surround
Her solemn gleam

Her blank smile poses
As the dead roses
Drowns her gown
Her laugh opposes

She caresses her doll
Which is bruised and mauled
Her robotic expression
Compliments her shawl

She stares but never speaks
Even though her blood leaks
Streaming down her eyes
Over her cheeks

A lovely dead flower indeed.