So I watch her.
She is tired again.
So I leave her.
She fails to live again.
So I live for her.
It is a blindness of her own.
Her own personal prison that keeps her impassive.
She is trapped again.
So I fight for her.
She is locked in again.
So I search for her.
She is confined again.
So I cry for her.
It is a devil all her own.
Her own internal fiend that keeps her vulnerable.
She is sad again.
So I love her.
She cries again.
So I help her.
She is lost again.
So I am lost with her.
It is a survival all her own.
It is her own agony that causes her to deteriorate.
Satan knocks again.
So I shoo him for her.
He comes back again.
So I kill him for her.
I wake up again,
And can do nothing for her.
It is an inexorable fate of my own.
To love her the way she was.
Way she existed prior to death.
To sadness.
To sorrow.
To mourning.
To misery.
To prison.
To pain.
To despair.
To death.
