She cannot
hear
the sounds
but sleep
she is
in stars
a cloud
of grey

on earth, the dreams are brown

but her time is
laced
in silent
conclusions
madness as
the music plays,
its melody
bleeding
black

but not wanting
to see so
far alone
herself
she erases
memories and what
she remembers
is ruthlessly
unkind and
yet
sublime
in spirit she is

finger tips of
cold confusion
contracting covers
wet with
dead sensations
always asking
questions
that lack
responses
makes the
realizations
nothing
in the
empty
touches

but
to bare
too much
undressed she is
alone.