The Pillow's Secret

A pillow made hidden by blood red hair,
The bright yellow sun shining through the glass,
A spider makes a web at nimble feet.
A bruising eye has morally kept secrets.
Another sad clown has made her tears fall free,
A keen eye shows the cautious clown is me.

Sad fervent minds are meaningless to me,
The pillow covered still in blood red hair.
The sun is demanding to break her free
Of chains, of sin, of broken hearts of glass.
A song of cynicism has broke secrets
And returned strength has come to broken feet.

The spider chews the prey, eat soft, on feet
Of tough and raw, and skin that sweetened me.
A dark and mocking state, and bloodless secrets,
All lies, all sex, all pain. The truth is hair,
The blood red hair that lingers heavy on glass
Demanding life and breaking hearts so free.

But keeping chains around thy wrist, so free,
So strong, so weak, a rope has bound thy feet.
So still, no hope. Only broken, and broken glass.
The pillow never held mere thoughts of me,
Just blood, that shining, heaving blood red hair.
The mouth-less pillow knows to hold secrets.

The spoken words of pillows: only secrets
Are kept inside, and eternally are free.
The blood now drips so breathless, heavy, sad hair
Now fallen from the pillow. Lifeless feet
Now cold as death. The binds are cold as me.
A kiss has stolen blood and broken glass.

The sun has hidden light, and broken glass
Is scattering the floor. The pillow’s secrets
Are used no longer. Blood has crept to me,
So red, so sweet. I lick my fingers free.
I tie her dead and lifeless hands and feet,
And shove my face into her bloody red hair.

The broken glass has finally broken free.
The secret closed around her lifeless feet.
The blood red hair will forever kill me.