Night falls slowly
As I sit and wonder where all my freedom has migrated to
Somewhere warmer perhaps
For I've become far too cold for its liking
A fleeting bird rushing past grey skies
In search of better climate
To rest his feeble wings
In a new nest of twigs and twines and pebbles
My soul no longer its home
But a bare shack with four crumbling walls
I'm trapped in all the shame and anger
The way I can't sleep without a constant reminder
Of his hands, of my head screaming forever more in silence
And no one hears this
And no one cares to talk about it
And no one understands why
I shiver even in the warmest days of summer
With the though of his big hands trailing along my body
