In a coffin she lies,
angelic, porcelain little angel.
Fabric laid over pattens of shimmering opalescent skin
still is her chest, hollow and vacant of soul
disembodied from her self and dormant thought.
She is no more than a vessel of memory.
her silk blue dress echos a time of playful joy,
of a time where she played out in the woods.
The villainy of the shadows in the forest swallowed soul and purpose.
Exterminated life and bore darkness in a pure body.
She rests and the wolf lives.
it is a dark cruel world.

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