A chilled draft of darkness cracks the ghostly curtains.
and hides under the dusty, massive teak table.
It peeps at her despair with pity:
She curses the night, spitting rambling insults,
splitting her sanity into horror and blight.
Her odious words sound young, rebellious.
She's not yet a woman, no longer a child.
The ocean in her eyes lashes her vision
and memories pour out like pointing knives.
Like that empty bottle hiding under the teak table,
The cruel rage of a reckless man
Now she soothes her shivers with songs and sketches.
She draws bleeding hearts as fetching clutches
Breaking through the chest of headless babies.
She composes slurred, frantic prayers
She strums thunderstorms, random hurricanes,
Yet, in her ocean,
in the very depths of her torn eyes,
an ailing angel hums loose verses
of drown innocence
and sunken lullabies.