Ten wilted petals Stumbling over the other Upon her fingers, in the grave. The appendages curled, in the state of her death. She catches falling rain upon a bony cheek, Watered over in the ivory. Upon the fingers that do not point above, They yet point below To the sandy Earth Where hollow joys Were dropped from a hollow face, To Hell, buried beneath herself. I stilled my heroic gaze To her thwarting cries, Upon the day of her sickness Where waters blessed her cheeks In fevered pains. She will rise from her mass Of Earth, beneath, To see, the world unfurled By her wings, the same. Ten wilted petals Are hers to drop off for another's hands, Not my own. I see now The torment that shades itself in the pleas of others Who did not see, her wish to be free. I find myself To step away from the grave To still my own self, so that I may be saved.