Death.

It was never this tough for me to survive . Such anguish , such despondency.
I feel like some one crumbled my neck and bruised it so hard , so strong, that nocuous air is gushing into it ; dark murk; a bouquet of thousand blue flowers , feels like I smell 'em, their savour so bitter.
I look out of the  dormer of my room  and I see a path with no footprints; I see it clear in the effulgence of moon , and I see none

Will none be handy.

Look at her , the achromatic scarf , her blood is blushing it , saturating it as your axes fall on her bossom.
She has one hand on her head in repentance and another patting the ground singing out whines.

YOU KILLED HER.