Her eyes spoke of sweet bliss,
though her mind and body were afflicted by the pain of the past,
both physically and mentally
There laid the weapon of her own destruction,
a blade wrench in the tears of her own blood
The room was quiet with her own despair,
asphyxiated by the stench of her rotting corpse
It was if she laughed in the face of her own downfall,
as if she as born to die
The smile on her face said to me that she now felt free,
She may now ever be a beautiful tragedy