|The Death of Chatterton: Henry Wallis (1856-58)|
She unscrewed the lid and yanked it off its base.
Threw it away in a corner because it mattered no more.
She won't be able to clean up after she's done.
With eyes red and mad she took ten of them in her palm.
Streched her head back while outside there raged a storm.
People shouted beyond the locked doors to open up.
To make her stop but in vain as she'd gone insane
She was on her way to the doors below that she know not of.
Far away, a restless soul waited with breath abated
For some news of what she was brewing inside.
But there came none for a while that seemed like aeons.
Until it seemed far too late, she might have been long gone.
She did survive the torturous ordeal but her heart did stop beating.
Everything ended when she took to her ire
And decided to lay down and die.