Nearer to your heart of holes,
my only hope for solace found;
your trembling love in darkness lay,
by hurt and fear so roughly bound.

For you, there is no golden key,
no single word to heal the scars
that lace your tattered, tarnished soul,
and bid you stay behind the bars.

Your broken beauty cries for me;
I pour my life into the cracks,
in hope you'll bloom and live again
the tension in your heart grow lax.

My dearest love, I pine for you.
But as your psyche has yet to mend,
I wait to whisper words of bliss
and to your troubles gently tend.