She bites into the skin.
It kills her from within.
Death by the original sin.
It looks as if she could not win.

The sweet taste of fruit colored blood red.
Bursting in a heart that has all ready bled.
Taking out the agony which she had fed.
Paler than snow, she falls down dead.

The lady who ran all through the night.
Only catching a faint trace of light.
Now it’s all over because of one bite.
It was she that took her own life.

Didn’t she realize it would be wrong?
But she hadn’t slept for oh so long.
She was sick and tired of her broken song.
She knew that all of her pain would be gone.

Seven men could not save her that night.
No one man could erase all her strife.
She would never survive through this life.
It was either the fruit or the knife.

Taking the apples colored blood red.
A snowflake shaped crown rests above her head.
On a gray stone this is all that it said.
“The fairest of them all, here lays dead.”