30 May 2012
Her eyes fill her pillow with a river of tears, To drown her screams through sleepless nights, Her mind creates dark swirls of her thoughts, To release her terror to all new heights.
Her fingers Her skin Both becoming thin, Her lips Her teeth Still tremble beneath Those thin, pale hands, muffling her words, Innocent joy to be heard by only birds.
Sing oh sing my naive little friend, Let your happiness be known, May you return safely home, Do not walk alone.
For he is present, make no doubt, For he is close, watch your shadow, For he is cunning, trust the untrustworthy, Come, my friend, let me hold you in my Shaking hands.
Shaking Hands • Opuss № I