Their mouths are fowl that speak of clumsy words that stumble like fools.

Their large arms swallow her small heart.

They're hugging her soul but hold on to tight.

Her glass bones shatter cutting through the paper skin shredding abstractly.

And she loses peace.

They're intoxicated blood boils with rage, clawing at her hopeless self.

And she's tired.

They're cut tongues create the noise, piercing in anger.

The pipes leak dreams that blacken their veins.

And she falls asleep.