I can hear her voice, her screams.
My body trembles under the strain of her
pain, under the graze of her fingertips.
She has been stolen away, a ghost, a
muse. Dark and torn she has lain in death's
mysterious pain.
Her screams are those of one unjustly taken,
a prisoner within herself, trapped. I can see
her, she has no name, no face. But she is there all
the same.
The whole of me trembles under her anger
and sorrow. And all she wants is for it to
end, to be peaceful once again. In her eyes
all I see is that this corpse, this ghost, is
me.
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