Losing Irene

I turned a corner and found her asleep.

Her body motionless,

like an unborn sheep,

Hair splayed across the floor,

like seaweed washed ashore,

skin pale like the moon,

lips drained of life.

Her body was a disformed puppet, 

whose strings had been cut.

I round the corner,

not looking back.

I refuse to re-enter,

the deafening black.