She was a pretty little thing

She's a pretty little thing, slender in her form
Grim like the reaper, an open eyed sleeper
Walking through the thickets, vines thorn and  wicked
From the tree tops hung her noose, old and worn

She steps out of her shell, this lovely creature
Wearing a white dress stained with unpleasant dreams
Her breath is drawn and heavy, a bit unsteady
Wary that her corpse can find strength to breathe

Hair untamed, ebony in color
Eyes an enigma, revealing windowless panes
She fell for a deceiver, a classic web weaver
Playing with her heart like a childish game

His touch was unforgiving, his voice too alluring
And where winter meets the borders of spring
He attracted flames just to snuff it out
Crushing dandelions while he merrily sang

She was a pretty young thing, radiating light
While he cracked open her soul like sunflower seeds
He tossed them to the wind to his red eyed friends
Knocking on her door with a bouquet of weeds

He is a dark raven, the right hand of Satan
Taking all he could and offering her nothing
But he did make sure to taint what was once pure
And thought that perhaps that had to count for something