DARK LADY

Darkness falls over the illusion of the woman in the black dress,

Her hair short cropped, face dirty, no breath.

She steps into the confessional with nothing to confess.

I watch her black dress trail along the ground.

Her fingers brushing through the flowers with the touch of death.

Losing sight of her I look all around.

There is nothing to find except a black ribbon,

Evidence of my sanity, entrenched in my mind her pretty face etches itself,

I picture her but the thought of her is all but hopeless to abandon.

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