the melancholy maiden lives with her ever-present gelidity, with tears flowing so posthaste she can scarcely see.
she maneuvers through a frosting feeling of forlornness in her chest, never allowing her to rest.
the parturient poignancy is her embellishment all the day, and the crepuscule no different as she walks on the way.
she longs for the day her days will be done, feelings of dysphoria on the other side will be none.
the melancholy maiden lives on with her ever-present gelidity, with tears flowing so posthaste, she one day will finally see.