She is the death of sleep
Waiting there in the corner of my mind

Just a few words
And she scratches my soul raw

Cat with a dying mouse
Playing, prolonging the exquisite torture

Always there, if I blink, she sits upon the bed
For a split second then just shadows floating

Old so very old, she glows like a teen sometimes
My dreams turn into her whispers
And her whispers turn into my screams

She died here long ago
But forgot to say goodbye
So now she hates me for living
Exacting petty vengeance the only way she can

One night, as the thunderstorm howled
I caught her singing ‘sounds of silence’
Her voice was so beautiful, that
I lay down beside her
And waited for her touch.