Terminally ill
With eyes set to kill
She was fallen to the price
No longer playing nice
It was quiet that night
Her heart put up a fight
But in the end she was weak
And no longer able to speak
If there was a conscious thought
Of the damage her feelings wrought
It was stored in the back of her mind
Keeping her eyes blind
To the world revolving around
She could not hear a sound
There was blank on the walls
And blood spattered her overalls
Innocence decimated
With not but silver-plated
Iron in her bones
Describing desolate moans
Crying loud with pleas to stop
While soaking up blood with a broken mop.
-Olivia-