Fear had run its course,
Blood froze, his eyeslids rose,
The fear of losing someone, nowhere to run,
Who could read his breath, his eyes,
He wished he were in front of a gun.
His actions were a cold disgrace,
To what he called love,
Tears all over her face.
Those tiny things made me happy, elated.
Just his attention, her gaze.
Time couldn’t heal this wound, yet he waited.
He couldn’t wash off the stains,
He wound himself a cocoon,