The excruciating cry nibbling the ear of the non-incandescent.
Agitating death itself with bewildered screams.
Self infliction only abides her for so long.
Anxiety fills her body , grasping her throat.
Aggression filled tears drip from the fearful.
Only the wise ones understand the meaning,
The meaning of patched up hearts and bleeding wounds.
Only the wise ones can sing her to sleep.
Songs of broken passions, heart stricken deaths.
But, only she can save herself.
Not the wise ones who fill her cup with the poison, that leaves her body
motionless.
Only she can heal the damage she has caused.

 
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