Her, with the stone sobriety.

Infantile with doe eyes    
devastatingly-innocently-curious;    
crayons scattered over the    
expected future,    
defending her from view.    
“Live while you’re young,    
for the majority of people sink    
into misery having died years ago”.    
   
And live she did, madness beginning    
to croon through the startled    
shouts of murky thoughts.    
Insanity settled as stone sobriety,    
dousing the inflamed terror    
that thrived inside of her.    
   
Decades impaled themselves    
into her skin, whittling dense    
intricate crevasses under frowning eyes.    
All the while bone after bone    
(no one to be left behind)    
shifted as atoms transformed    
under the thrall of stone desolation.    
   
When her time arrived in    
a clatter of morality,    
the universe could not    
afford to lose her.    
She was a part of it,    
having witnessed too much;    
having died too little.    
They came to a curt decision,    
finishing the process solemnly.    
   
She, with the stone sobriety;    
is trapped in the eyes    
of every statue staring.    
Watching the world    
revolving into the hell    
it was always meant to be.