Ripping Apart the Living Corpse

March 15, 2011
  Sweet, sweet tears. 
  Smelling of roses, and refreshing the mind. 
  Falling down my cheeks, each having a story. 
  Stories that are secretly written in the hidden pages of their chemical bondings. 
  Catching in my eyelashes, so that I can watch them over again. 
  Oh how beautiful and selfless she was. 
  But one day she just couldn't take it anymore. 
  So she cried the same, sweet tears I cry today. 
  Each tear, a tear in the soul. 
  Ripping apart who she was;
who I am. 
  Like a sheet of paper, her soul. 
The paper with the secret stories. 
  All being ripped. 
Into pieces. 

  Crying and yelling,
For someone to hear her dying.
  Oh how much sorrow she felt. 
"Why does no one see?" she asked herself. 

Perhaps because she was a living corpse, and no one saw her nevertheless.  

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