Can you hear the sound of rain pattering on the glass?
Does it wash away all the aged dust?
Your heart has become as hard as the walls that you have built,
your expressions fixed, never-changing like the porclein doll on the hill.
Once you filled my life with all the joy there is in the world,
now you sit there, watching slowly like the furniture around you growing mould.
What can I do? What can I say?
I just wish I could help you keep your demons a bay.
But without you telling me what is wrong,
I can only wait, watching you by the door.