The Death Of Me
If I was a statue, I'd be made of glass.
Carefully sculpted, of the present not past.
My eyes would be green, just like the beautiful lakes. My wardrobe white to black, as my body burns at the stake.
My green eyes begin to shed tears, as they roll down the smooth glass. My internals can be seen, succumbing to what must pass.
The pain ever increasing, the heat melting my face. My veins stop pumping, stop without a trace.
As the rest of my body fails, and melts to the ground. No one there to watch, not a single one around.
The sadness of it all, comes a little too late. You see my death was always coming, this has always been my fate.