And then there was nothing.
And then she was no more.
And finally, she was free.
And there was no more sadness.
And she was no longer volatile.
And she didn't write poetry anymore.
And she didn't slit her wrists in fits of panic anymore.
And she didn't make those mistakes anymore.
For there were no more to make.
And no more nights of staying awake.
And no more emotions to fake.
