She was beautiful because she had soemthing I desired in the palm of her hand.

She had obtained something I longed for with no prerequisite obstacles to go through.

I had to fight for a mere glimpse of what I desired and believed I deserved. 

My jealousy faded as I found that what I wanted was far below what I deserved,

and her beauty disappeared from my eyes as I stared into her cold and dead eyes.

I felt nothing short of pity in my heart as I realized she was no one to compare myself to.

She was broken and used her depression as a justification. 

Her cruelty was something that would always be waiting to haunt her in death.

And for that, I felt sorry. 

She was the emobodiment of nothingness.