She walks in shadows and stifles her tears. No one shall see what lives inside this corpse. A world filled with sorrow, darkness. Footsteps leaving imprints, falling into the withering earth. Sinking, disappearing. Who will notice? Who can see this shell filling up with sadness and memories of hard times? And if seen will it be stopped? Will someone empty this more than full grave? The irony of a life. Happiness shone and sorrow hidden. The vastness of this garden of evil. The flowers quietly withering from inside. Vines shrink and crumble from the walls that hold her in and grapes shrivel to sour raisins. Curled up in the middle of these walls is her dying body. Shaking, shivering and rocking. Bloodshot eyes rolls and crippled limbs grasp what is left of the covering, the shelter for her soul. The last attempt of warmth. It dies.
