She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.
She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.

Her hair was plastered to her face,
Her scarf, enveloping her like a python.
Hot, salty tears ran down her cheeks.
She held out her arms to me.

She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.
She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.

Bolting the doors with an anxious expression,
I pulled her close to me and whispered in her ear.
Bullets of tears pelted my shoulder,
I held on tight.

She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.
She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.

The soothing, hot sponge tingled her tender skin,
The alcohol attacked like an armada of nettles.
The hands of the sobbing carcass violently shook,
Droplets of red ink soiled my hands.

She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.
She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.

Bandaged up - the wound was blinded,
A mummified image.
I gave a watery smile and she was guided along towards the path of the shining star;
She rested, and I never let go of her hand.

She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.
She came to me at two thirty,
Covered in cuts and bruises.

Lei era al sicuro

©Maniba Kiani , 28/11/13