Her voice but a whisper, as

Death clutches her tiny frame

Her eyes, dirty windows unbreachable

As her sins

She takes to the grave

 

She tries in vain to convey her pain

As her words

Rattle rasp and hiss

Incomprehensible

Empirical

The language of the dead

 

For surely she knows

Her death, given her pain

Will be a welcoming comfort

 

She closes her eyes in anticipation

Her breathing short and labored

 

Her mind and body have

Betrayed her

Fragile and frail

Wrought of disease this husk of a shell

 

That was once so beautiful

Unrecognizable

Soiled in excreta

 

Silently crying as

She lay dying

Ravaged by unwanted

Memories of a time

Long Gone

 

Living is easy she

Mused

It is death that is hard

And with that final thought

She gasped

And she was gone

 

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