I don't know if someone will ever read that, but I'll post it anyway.

~~~
She fell.
A murder of her own virtue
for it was crippled indeed
as her thoughts dwell on the unfortunate,
as her smile easily deceived
that the beauty, rich and purpose
she did not see as creed,
neither coveted, nor wished for,
though, she always did.


She prays:
in her chamber of loneliness
while she’s part of the throng.
She’s been silent ‘cause her wistfulness
has cut off her tongue.
Her hands are now tied with a chord,
and cannot hold his;
How awful an inner discord
could be to the longed for bliss.


She creeps
through the endless labyrinth,
resembling the insane
catching a glimpse of its exit unlit,
rising and rushing to grasp it, in vain,
keeps cutting that chord,
and cutting, and carving while trying to cut,
her hand now reminding of scarlet, uncut
she be in Eden.
Her eyes are now shut.