The clock ticked to five past six,
A maiden arose from the cringes of the dark,
The sun lit her bare back,
Fading the memories of a monotonous night.
Her feet rested on cold stone,
As she draped around some fine silk,
Walking stiffly into a room,
Where water sanitized her soul.
Her damp body confronted a mirror,
A droplet sneaked out of her curl,
A thoughtless mind, an expressionless face,
Now she wondered who she was before.
A thug of the door broke her thought,
Inquisitive, moist eyes drifted to check,
They saw crisp paper flung on a frozen bed,
The maiden sighed for her heart died another a slow death.