Something moves and crawls and smarts – �
A moan, a scream, a dying word –
And then falls down and falls apart
As if you’ve shot a singing bird.
Dreams and secrets, hopes and guilt,
Fears and joy – they all stay hidden,
Locked inside and left to wilt,
Should they ever come unbidden.
Eternal, mortal, chained and locked,
Lost and found and never sought,
True and false, denied and mocked,
Confusing, strange and slightly odd –
You hide them like a bleeding sore,
Let them crawl inside your head
Until they starve and are no more,
And so on, so on – until you’re dead.