there's a crack in the head
where a poem should have gone
there's a pond in this town
where the poet drowns
from the hands of the ones 
that knew she wrote the town poem books
but no matter how bad it looks,
they stay innocent and unbroken
while the lies shine in
the orifice of a life that no longer had words
and for the sin 
they beg, they plead
for some kind of release 
but there's a crack in the eyes
where the girl stayed to die
and there's a lead on the lies
that should have never been uttered
and in a scenario of fear,
would you shead guilty tears
or put on a fake smile?
and still, grinding on
are the unending time gears
in a courtroom in the night
the crowd will stand to say
the poet's cold, stone hands
point suspicion in their way.
and in cold nights, where the dead two lie
is the ghost of a poet
where the words all go to die