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.