eyes wide open, frozen with fear
traces of tears running down the cheeks
smeared with blood and mud thrown in a mere
and they say the dead don't speak
wrists wide open, ropemarks right below
blackened as lying there for weeks
amidst the bruises with a shadowy glow
and they say the dead don't speak
terrors wide open, curling up the bed
chewing, consuming the mind so weak
shards of shrieks and whispers in the head
and they say the dead don't speak