Fear prickles down my spine,
slithering it's way into my farthest reaches,
what will become of me?
If her words sting, as though time has lengthened each spite,
If the stage is busy, but without a crowd to watch?
What will become of me, if they ever find their way to me?
If art and music are no longer my only remedy,
What will become of me,
when I can only be surrounded by shadows and shards from long ago?
tears cease to fall, and all I am is numb.
What will become of me,
If I can meet new smiling faces once more?
If laughter surrounds the halls instead of evil cackles.
What will become of me years later, when my world renews itself?