Beheld by the quiet eyes of Diana,
A sweating palm lies
Over a beating heart.
If it beats any louder,
It shall tear itself apart.
Fangs slice the lower lip,
Which quivers, ever so weak,
Sending red rivulets down a pale cheek.
The taste of their sadness draws her near.
Their broken hearts weep many a tear.
Their dying dreams drive her insane.
She cannot bear the presence of their pain.
Her heart makes her reasoning flawed,
For her to save would be a just cause.
The temptation too great,
She takes the bait.
There is one end,
Perhaps at best,
Would be a little death.
She shall shatter her fragile heart
To pour her red glue with her last breath.
This alone does she desire
To seal every burning break
And to heal them for their own sake.
Once they are healed and whole,
They shall leave her standing there,
The pieces of her heart to float in the air.
Yet, even as she will cry,
She will be just as willing to try.
Beheld by the quiet eyes of Diana,
She embraces one of them again,
Though there can only be one end.
