To slit her throat?
She thinks not
And yet she tremors with unsteadiness
Waiting for a resolution
A Heartache of undisclosed repetition

Her head pounds within the motionless existence -
{i}Silence{/i}
The crisp noise of paper - Sliding ...
Sliding across the earth
It lands in front of her ... {i}her{/i}
She stares - No flicker of light glinting off her lashes
But her eyes glow - {i}Fire{/i} - in the dark.
Flames that rupture the stillness of the night ...
She is set ablaze
Radiance that smolders the path - The path to contentment

The paper pleats into her shirt, resting between her breasts
She walks - Perhaps cautiously - down the aisle
It's dark. Very dark. Blood-curdling darkness
We cannot see - but she can
Torture flashes charged beams throughout her extended arms
So she holds her arms close - an inferno forms an enclosure -
An enclosure of {i}hell{/i}

She reaches the extremity of the alley
To find herself nothing but an empty space
There is nothing. Almost nothing. But there is {i}something{/i}
A pen
She outstretches her arms to grasp the smooth, delicate skin of the ballpoint
It meets her fingers and she jots down locutions
A deadly layer of paper that will draw blood at the faintest touch -
It is {i}Death{/i}
But not what humans believe - It was much more

Death is something that is sorrowful - To {i}us{/i}, that is
But if there is such a representation of it ...
It would be this

As she concludes her note, she drops.
The paper creases involuntarily and descends to the surface of blood -
{i}Her{/i} blood
For she is gone. Unwanted. Betrayed
In her own pool of thick desolation