Internal II (wanderer)

there is someone wandering around
on the inside of my 
she and i are not the same
and she often wishes I were 

she whistles haunting tunes, a sickly sweet 
into my 
a restless hum of seething rage 
to fill my veins with 
endless fear

she bids the sorrow that wears me
the curtains veiling a hollow
skin,            (a shell of a girl)
one day closer to the eventual 
and i know, she will be the very last friend
i ever see

~ A. L. Stippich

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