Holding Hands With the Devil
What’s in her mind, sharp lines slice her in half,
Into faded dark red, green and blue,
And the flowers cover up each emotional scar,
From ever even shining on through,
To show the gouges ripped from her thoughts,
To show the bruised, shaken, and torn,
Slit while she slept, in a nightmare of hell,
For her public body to remain an unborn?
What does she think, where does she go,
When her eyes are wide open to black,
When her eyes are blank to all of the noise,
After her soul escaped the attack?
Does she remember those days that’ve gone,
When she obeyed every little demand?
Does she remember those days when she sold her soul,
Just to hold onto his hand?
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