Shattered to pieces, in vain, I gather them to bleed
The empty walls yell
They make the same noise, one of agony indeed
As if bound by a witch’s spell.
Oft, I can’t move, from the depression I dwell
Am I a child, abulic?
I fear a slip; I’m frayed by the taste of hell
I’m neither sweet nor cherubic.
All I need is a hug, resembling the warmth of my tunic
The rope hung to proceed
Swings and that make me smitten with a wrecking panic;
I plead for heed.
