Mannerisms waltz with the cuts in my heart.

A look, a movement, a tone:

All symbols of pure enragement,

With no preceding indication.

It’s frozen inside,

Not a fault in sight,

And I’m frustrated this time,

But only with my own head.

I don’t want to push you away,

But in my mind you’ve already left.

I refuse to let my head win this one,

No never again.

Just give me time, let me heal

And please be careful with my spirt

For she’s made of frayed silk.

~Annalise