The forlorn (My poem)

                                                         There it rests. Round her neck.

Blood filled. Blood Stained.

Blood soaked.
Yes. It stood there.
The  silent witness.

She was young.Innocent  back then.

Likely to dispel gloom,blithesome.

Her provider, a beldam, gave it to her.

Tightly,twas there.

The sole witness.

The damsel grew weary and plain.

Achieved what life has to offer.

Faced life. Its saturnine and eupeptic facets.

Still. It stood there.

The muted witness.

One nostalgic day came.

Thoughts rushed.Thoughts drew;

Paranoia covered her ears.

But still, serene. It stood there,

The taciturn witness.

It's clear; Life,no point at all.

Living, inane ; empty.

Resolved for it to end,

Prompt a shiv in hand.

Throat ripped. Blood splattered.

There,round her blood-bathed neck,

Worn still, the idle witness..