The black ink curves over my
skin like a crouching tiger.
The pain is nothing compared to the open
wound that has settled in my heart.
My guardian angel with no wings
nor halo has given me the emptiness.
He sits on the silver-plated moon,
he keeps her company.

The ink has etched into my skin,
writing down his and my history.
Without him the Grim Reaper would
have harvested my life-flower long ago.

He held his hand over me when
I walked on broken glass.
He hummed lullabies when
the demons screamed their chants.
He wiped my tears away
when the mirror was distorted.
His presence played chess with
the ever oppressive solitude.

Now that he is gone, I am an easy
prey for the lions of the world.
I'm just a bunny,
my vegetables can scare nobody.
But he was also a bunny,
a bunny who fought to the last.
So the least I can do is fight so
he can see he did not fight in vain.

And if I ever feel lonely,
I'll just dive into the moonlight
where he resides.