Hidden beneath ivy covered walls, Behind an heavy oak door,
Lies a secret smile,
Waiting, and waiting,
To see the sun again.

The trails of salt running down a rosy cheek,
They are a constant waterfall of blue,
Accepted by the world as weak,
But letting them pour is strong to you.

They are an endless fountain,
The key to the box kept within,
The result of a countless tiny battles,
The marks of breakage painted on porcelain skin.

They are a sign of defeat to most,
But in reality they are a war won,
They free you from insanity's grip,
A reverse to damage already done.

Twisted silhouettes of branches,
Twirling into the twilight,
Stars dotted lazily across,
The artists palette I call tonight.

I struggle to remember,
Just when it fell from my grasp,
The moment it slipped away,
Becoming something of the past

Maybe the noose was always there,
Just never tight enough to feel,
Maybe it just sat there,
Waiting for it's grand reveal

But now it strains hard upon my neck,
Making me choke on every word,
Now I use my silent voice,
Even though it's begging to be heard

It kills me to speak loud and clear,
My body rises in rebellion,
And my mind complys wordlessly,
Terrified of heaven.