Open wounds of a scarred beauty in a casket,
They pile their plunders above her and dance,
Overlooking her submersion on his throne he sighs,
For all passions and desires lose its flames,
She had outdone her purpose,
Like a wilting flower she had lost her pretty petals,
His precepts were deemed cruel,
yet cruelty was all he had known,
yearning was agony and love was rage,
She is to be celebrated only in death,
Death became her




© river_who