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"The Descent of Catherine"

Sweet and immovable Catherine
She says to me, "Don't Move"
Frozen just below her wrists
Her time here is almost up.

Some 60 years she will have to miss.

Forgot to reset the dial
and her eyes still bleed
as her lips weep
mournful pouty sighs

Just let it sleep

Crave something not as dark
forced enthusiasm she tries
she declares, "Maybe Grey"
with a lump in her throat..

Oh yes, we'll make her pay.

Now she walks the midnight hours
longer than the rest could know
Hugging to the walls
Over and over her only sort of support

The last hope, she herself mauls.

Now has lost the ability to speak
Appearing only to wander
Gripping arms so tightly to waist
Walking a crooked step

Afraid to take up space.