The silence flows softer, smother.
Her gentle pater of steps clouds his mind.
What would he give to gaze upon dazed irises one last time.
None the wiser, he longs to feel her cold touch.
Past the statues sweating with a gloomy blush.
Pale fingers drowns out sound, wrapped with flies.
Heaving a sigh, dirt meets thighs.
He gazes at cold lifeless eyes.
Young women should never die.
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