She stands at the edge of insanity,
Violins playing sweet melodies as she stares into the oblivion.
Old wallpaper hangs off the walls and mould stains, like splatters of paint, cover the doors.
Hardback books spin up towards the ceiling,
Like a London cityscape.
Her mind is a never ending map,
Spilling out into fields and roads,
Paths and train tracks.
She's planned everything well,
On the back of old maths books.
Fitting for her end.
She shuts her bruised eyelids,
Imagining ice and the sound of simple instrumental triangles.
Then she sings sweet lullabies,
Holding the object that will make her last wish possible.
It's cold in her hands as she sets off the lock with a click,
Her fingers don't shiver,
Her eyes don't go downcast and fill with the tears of lost life.
She holds the gun to her neck, pointing upwards,
And then her leg shakes.
"Lost lover," She whispers. "Dance with me one last time
Her head is filled with ballrooms and glass slippers.
"Lost lover," She mumbles. "Kiss me one last time
She remembers the way his fingers caressed her hips, the way his lips went anywhere on her body.
"Lost lover," She mutters. "Kill me one last time