The dirt under her blue nails,
Became the eyes of her last breath,
When the air went out in a fog of the final,
And blood halted in their roads,
These were dangling pale legs,
From a body touched by death,
With the rope around her throat,
Acting as a lost lover's embrace,
The whiteness of her eyes were haunting,
An image to echo thousands of nights,
And the poison of guilt clawing,
Inside the boy's corrupted lungs,
His skin shivered at the sight,
Of her floating red dress,
A timeless memory for an older him,
To remember the girl he never knew.
Aina Izzah
