Poking holes in the canvas of her existence
Waiting for the lies to bleed forth
Little by little her desire to live leaks out
Now the image is obscured
Still she continues to knit her passions into patches 
A stale wet scent looms
Searching through the substance of her being
How deep can the truth be
In this state of entropy she knows no shame
Redecorating His work of art
A slow but constant flow draws her focus
If the air was to slip away
She would not gasp to try and contain it
Dear mother... Dear father
Not this night did you lose your daughter
You have her shell
And even when her heart was still beating
There was only a shell