Gone are the days where grace lay sleepless,
amiss are the thoughts that transpire the grey.
Begotten the creation of hearts now scattered,
the ink forever bleeding as it seeps through the page.

Nights grew colder as time became wrestless,
each second made longer tormented it ticks.
As her face etched with pain becomes petrified with anger,
the lullaby by which grace sleeps once again.

The nouns that she speaks are lucid and scattered,
trembling at the parting of her lips crimson plead.
Thoughts that prolong the way she's left awoken,
sleeping forever as the hours drip away.