Morbid thoughts.

She ran to her closet of nothingness,

Dug in to look for a mask.

The closet she found, was a pool of fess,

Full of questions she had to ask.

So numb and weary,

Desolate and in despair.

So beholden and wary,

With death lingering in the air.

Why won't the demons go away,

She just wanted a taste of Eden.

She thought in dismay,

Thinking of the beholden garden.

Death seemed like her oldest friend,

Always knocking on her door.

Was it bound to be the end,

The long walk on the moor.

The gods of her forefathers, 

They had forsaken her.

She cried out in wretchedness,

As she watched their lore.

They mocked her, tore her,

Till she fled from the cosmos;

Where she found her backdoor,

And vanished into the great abyss.