Cold And Empty

Deep and dark and solemn her stare,
Bleeding crimson tears of despair,
Shrouded by the mists of time,
A shadow watches from behind,
Her soul floats away on the breeze,
Leaving her cold and empty.

A bleeding heart and a bleeding mind,
All around her, ravens fly,
To scavenge self-inflicted wounds,
A festering longing for death to come,
To end it all and bring release,
From her cold, morbid reality.

Amid the trees and fallen leaves,
Long shadows embrace her misery,
As she looks on autumn's mausoleum,
And winter brings death to the year,
The angels bow their heads in sin,
So cold, so cold their hearts of stone.

Within the garden of death's repose,
She pricks a finger on the rose,
She drips her blood upon his grave,
And recalls a vague memory,
Of ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
She writes his name in blood.

She lays herself upon the earth,
The rose held tight unto her breast,
She hears a whisper on the wind,
Urging her to join him,
Her last breath lost within the mist,
Death grants her last wish.

Somewhere on the wind's lament,
Sombre words try to repent,
To bring redemption to her soul,
Wasted words of nevermore,
A cross of stone marks where she lays,
In a grave so cold and empty.