You're not dead (yet) If you were, my world would be again the sound of hollow stone. Emptiness.
Shivering, a naked fear...barely awake, questions.
Why torture with uncaring fingers a unbeating piece of flesh that was once more wild and free than we dared to?
Now only the stomach feels, tornado of innocent guilt, nausea of too much courage.
Blame a mirror for happiness that once was, and no more.
Leaves, gasping for air on that shore with hope as night, black...tears just a cloth to cover shame of the purest thing.
Ah, but the furious wind never stops to call, the wolf responds when no soul sees...
For those afraid to fall end up in deepest seas.