You don’t know how to help me, so you don’t try. I tell you how to help me, so you don’t help me. I tell you how upset I am, so you upset me more. I tell you that I slur my words, so you punish me. I tell you I need you to listen,
A boy sleeps upon a bed of nails That gently caresses his skin. No punctures and not a scratch But he dreams of chagrin. There was a man at the market Who gave this bed for free. He said it would only work With faith as the key. But like Peter walking on water, He
With tears of anguish, but solum actions, Searching for a soul escape. Is this the answer, the reason why, for planning out a whole escape? Could this be deeper, and lost in confusion, Or simply the easier way? For all the dark times, when you couldn’t hide, But run, run, run to escape. Is there
Once upon a time, We lived in the dark, Unaware of the Journey, We would soon embark. Our hearts lived alone, Drowning in the fear, That one day the end, Would be drawing near. Just when we lost faith, And could no longer cope, We found each other, And with it a hope. A hope
I sit alone at the table eyeing the empty seat. “Shouldn’t he be here already? There is nothing else to do.” A ripple of energy runs through my thigh, bouncing my knee in anticipation. The steady rate of my heart vibrates in tune with jitters flogging my mind. What is one to do or to