Doleful

Her eyes began to crystallize, as the moss grew tall and moist around her uncontrollably body.

The bones, brittle, yet vital, became an instrument of sound, as the wind passed through the trees.

The owls hooted as the moon began to rise, and the sun fell dead in its tracks. "Why me" the brain flickered as one last thought danced across the dying pink matter.

This one would no longer grow older, yet the nails and hair will continue to grow. The flesh will pucker and dry up.

Insects writhe and bathe in all its dead glory.

The purple nightgown, now torn and frayed, once an accomplishment of its own, no longer possess any threat.

Animals have come out for their nightly hunt.  In doing so, they will help dispose of the remains, that infect the earth.

A beautiful object, now dirty, doleful, and diseased. Every piece, carefully dissected by nature, and returned to its original form.