Dark Red Nails

She lays still upon her bed,
a silk pillow beneath her head.
Her hands are cold and white like snow,
with dark red nails just for show.

People cry as they walk by,
each now saying their last goodbye.
A young woman loved by all,
is now a limp and lifeless doll.

The box is closed and heads are bowed,
and bitter rain falls from a cloud.
And as the coffin's lowered down,
crashing thunder begins to pound.

Quickly buried in the ground,
her soul awaits her second birth.
Then lightning strikes with fervent heat,
and her fragile heart begins to beat.

Her eyes spring open, not sewn shut,
panic starts, quite abrupt.
She cannot breathe, there is no air,
she loses it but does not care.

Lifting the lid does not work,
when buried six feet under earth.
She shouts out loud and clear,
but no one is around to hear.

She claws the lid of her wooden crate,
and her dark red nails begin to break.
Her fingers catch on the metal nails,
and she cries out in pain filled wails.

Her fresh blood runs dark and red,
and in the wood it starts to spread.
It starts to turn some darkened pinks,
like once was like her rosy cheeks.

Now suffocating back to death,
she inhales her final breath.
She again will live no more,
buried now in blood and gore.

With rusty, bloody, dark red nails,
the only record of her final tales.