Even if We're Dreaming

Susie's Chest

It sits beneath the yellowish grass,

eyes look not upon the nameless chest,

and as the years seemingly pass,

still she lies but does not rest.

Her once lively skin has all but fade,

revealing a lovely white broken bone,

the history of her has all but decayed,

her whispers are a language unknown.

Who could hear Susie's last cry,

In the dark of the underground,

it couldn't be you; nor could it be I,

to hear the screams of silence’s sound.

For Susie lives but does not breathe.

Only remembered by her murderer's grieve.