Is she a fool?
To leave it all behind and be at peace on her own?
But will it be tranquil or will it be hell?
Tell me what to do I'm confused,
Unwell
But am I sick because of love?
Or the thought of it's smell

Drained but replaced, with pity and Lore
Red eyes roll back
Cerise to the core,
Cherry Lips tickled,
A flavorsome bunch
But
Lost to the man in the tomb with a hunch
The eyes of a fox and tail in a bunch
And the anaemic souls he'd stole
for his lunch

A lot of it scares me.
Not much the wrinkles or the grey.
But the anticipation, the knowing,
I will one day fade away.

Be but a sad name to whisper
A lost statistic, cold.
But in my poems I'm immortal
So onto these words
I hold.

If she left it aflame,
Would he stick by?

                                                   or sigh,
                                                       as he is tossed, cast away to the
                                                            side

With just the scent of her hair,
Memory of her eyes
          
                          
                                                      With a backhand embrace
                                                             confronted with lies