She surrendered to death;
her soul was covered in mud,
worms ate her breasts and lips,
even they wasn’t firmer like a jello.
Her eyes were pulled out,
with a sharp narrow knife,
and thrown them apart.
Those were sharper than a rusty knife,
when she was alive, they killed men.
The flowers in her coffin,
spread a nasty smell of her hidden love.
Nobody knew, who she loved the most,
or did anybody admitted her soul.
Instead the truth was, every men
admired her bony arms and legs.
May be they noticed her
protruded nose, and shallow forehead,
but not her thirsty soul.
Her name was unknown,
so her age.
Everyone called her “darling”,
when they need her flesh most.
Now she is a buried corpse,
and all ignored her rotting flesh;
they left her gravestone empty,
as no men craved her name on,
nor remember her until then.