She who is, is now Who was...

She is...

She is the darkness of the day,

She is the light of the night,

She is the one,

The one who creeps in the corners,

The one who whispers in the dead of Night.

Her body is the hour glass

That slowly drains her life away.

Her heart is as empty,

Like her tenth Goblet of wine.

She has not eyes,

But Diamonds blacker than coal.

Her lips stained,

Almost with blood.

The way crimson rides Her cupid's bow,

The way her skin,

Almost matching the Ivory of her pearls.

She is the social life of the city,

she has they company of many,

she has the wealth of a Queen,

Yet

She hates it all.

Beneath the layers of silk and satin,

Lies the scars of her loathing.

She smiles large in outward light,

The apparence of a sweet fruit.

Inside, though, she is bitter,

Like a radish.

With social wealth comes parties and friends.

She sees only the noise and the drinks.

She is everything,

She has everything,

Yet she has nothing.

She...

She lays now...

Tonight, away from a usual party,

She lays in cold water,

In cold, hollow porcilen,

Bare and exposed.

For the first time...

Her wine is spilled on tile,

with sprinkles of glass,

making the scene carry a beautiful side.

She does not move,

She does not try to clean her mistake.

For tonight she did clean her life of her mistakes...

With one final mistake,

She is now at peace.

No worry of who will morn,

No worry of what she will miss.

Tonight was her night.

Tonight she attends the party of something more...