Tainted

She's empty, not even close to half full,
Deceptions caught her mind in a deadened forest,
Filled with the spirits of yesterday,
Calling her name so angelically,
Whispering sweet memories in her ear,
While the tree branches pull her in,
Chaining her to her throne of thorns,
That scratch and cut her tender skin,
Revealing her crimson river,
Flowing thoroughly through the cracks,
Tainting her skin with the soft breath of death,
Lingering closely to her lips for the final kiss,
Her world slips away, resting her gently in her rusty grave,
Where she decays in misery with the ghosts of her past,
Hugging her close to warm her with their cold hearts,
That bleed in the pain of her loss, comforting her broken mind,
Soon they'll vacate her dormant corpse,
To watch her roam the mindless earth in search of her beaten soul,
Maybe one day she'll find it and return to her sedated grave,
So her phantoms can move on to torment the next pathetic soul
That doesn't feel the cold wind of defeat creeping in,
To beat them into a ruthless crypt of false conviction.

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