White lace, dark specks of blood.
Blonde hair, dirty and lank.
Blue eyes, empty of life.
Petite body, bones protuded.
Pink lips, chapped and dry.

Churning stomach, pain and despair.
Clogged throat, too hoarse to scream.
Spidery fingers, clutching a letter,
matted with age and grime.

Beautifully curved words,
almost gone.
Just like her.