People built of flesh and fear,

lies that wound and make us rot.

Times we cherish and hold dear,

then it’s over. And what did it cost?

You were beautiful, and innocent,

a baby, a child.

Now you’re wrinkled, and worn,

and old, and wild.

You were loved, and hated,

and killed, and born.

You fled, you bled,

you cried, you soared.

People built of skin and pride,

truths that never make you better.

What do you do now that you’ve died?

What do you do now that you’ve got

her letter?