Hilda

She's your daughter, don't fake an interesting life, say how you were adored, or talk with pregnant pause, make sudden deliverance your lie, we've heard those tales before, when you left our train, she writhed for days inside, that wave in the rain, a letter suddenly supports, your nowhere ville demise, shirt hanging nail on door, left as a reminder, a trace, like she was the one who died, sailing out from every place, this barely stepped on floor, you’ll regret ever asking why, your emotions too poor, to understand the crime.