Not a single tear was shed at her funeral,
for everything was a reminder of her,
Constantly clothing herself in memories,
in attempts to forget.
The pain she created for herself,
wore only thin the clothes that ripped from the backs of her family.
The continued rhythm of a de-railing train,
displacing the track it tread.
With no prior attempt to save herself,
or anyone around her,
All were left to assume.
The first domino fallen,
The butterfly taken wing,
Because when she finally decided to give a damn that day,
it was too late.
She'd finally been slain by her own misery.
