Nineteen eighty six, seventeen years of age this lost young child ?
Standing amid the shadows afore an empty looking glass; in silhouettes
Dawn these streams and light through a lonely window; silence, silver blade
Razors edge piercing their flesh tears; blood trickling then pouring from the corners..
Hopeless wishing begging tortured eyes; a season in somber this beginning as, reasons.
Copyright © Rachel St.Cross | Year Posted 2013
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