Waiting

Inside the darkened room,
a pale sliver of light
falls upon what once
were bright emerald eyes.
Love forlorn,
sibilant breaths become. . .
less. . .and less. . .
Emerald eyes glaze to dulled.
Wounded heart bled,
not unlike wrists with cicatrix scars;
which now pour ruby red,
as the silver moon finds cracks
in the walls;
daring to enter the chamber of this wounded
soul. . .
Dulled green eyes,
no longer of this world.
A hero does not exist.
A final shudder escapes
her.
As she lets her self go,
wishing herself out of
existence.