-

Below her fingertips,
Mosaic of black and white coffins are waiting to be pierced.

To consume the empty space of the oblivious free-own artist;
Unclasping the forgotten notes, and spreads it,
Like dust in the wind.

Mouth speaks to herself with chimes and rhyming;
Undressing the conflicted and troubled child;
Disguised as an adult matured and dignified.

Deceitful self-proclaimed sanctum begun to collapse;
Withdrawing luminous pearl,
In her surprised ebony eyes.

Realizing how much she laments,
The lullaby from the past,
Resurrecting the horrendous feelings,
That kills her inside.

The melody ends, without meeting the last  notes;
Regretting why she even played,
The masterpiece belonged to the deceased.

But the notes from her mouth continuous to flow,
Together with luminous pearls that keep on cascading;
Above the mosaic of familiar black and white coffins,
Below her fingertips.
That's now terribly shaking.

~Darkcamelot