everyone can hear.

why is it they paralyse me. secrets break the very core of being. dead. sometimes.

she washes away ink stains on her hands. darkest black they colour the night trying to wash away all those little tiny

--- secrets ---

like the scars that decorate my skin. I wonder what she is thinking.

she holds memories like a canvas holds the watercolours, and watches them drip down into the sea.

a secret sea.

a secret sea no one else can see.

and they begin to smile, those secrets smile. oh how they dance so sweetly.

the wind blew the dust away and I wonder what she is thinking.

she stares enchantingly through a window as the

--- gatemaster ---

moves warily through the maze.

she is that gatemaster. she is that dark wind, scrawling secrets into every hand that touches her.

and he smiles and their eagle rises from the deep pool, the dark spring of memory and mystery

and at the base of her soul sea, there are three words written in medicine ink

--- the tears of the eagle ---

and they hold her, yet they could devour.

they are the key to being together or dancing the last dance.

another secret another whirlpool in her eyes they are an unjeweled sea and in her heart there is a secret tatoo

made with secret ink not many can see...

and I touch it and my hands burn with the magic

--- of the eagle's tears ---

for in it's shadows it casts the words

.

.

.

I am

--- free ---