Just hold on

a little longer.

As time gently sweeps,

through our fingers.



Yet hardly touching.

What is this called?

The end is coming.


His nails dug,

beneath her skin.

Playing her softly,

Like old violins.


So much character,

was present within.

Little did she know,

that her music….


Was a sin.


Painting by: Kamille Corry 1966