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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