THE END

The sting of his kiss still pangs her lips
He thought nothing of the harshness for what he kissed her by
Yet inevitably she is left there lying alone
She does not know whether he pangs of heartache are for his kiss
Or his presence
And still it is not the place of the being to tell thine own heart
To cease
Though she wishes ever so far it to come to an end
But dare not a hurtful end, for she may not be able to carry on
Henceforth, he strolls by with only a mere glance, and perhaps not
Even a thought
The death of all deaths has come to her
Yea, a hurtful end
Which then crusheth her heart, her soul, her every existence
'Tis a hurtful end
But the pangs of heartache both ceased
Ne'er to beat again, her heart has died with his glance, and only
A glance upon the deathly white being of her corpse