The slave spoke
Knelt beside his master
He choked out words of resistance
The odd things to have persisted
Man, even beaten into submission
Cut my hair, take my hands, even
Slice out my tongue
What have you done?
Weakness, confused as being strong
The right, obscured within the wrong

"Life is cheap,"
Said strong to weak.
"Wrong is right,"
Spoke rich to meek.
"Do none, hear none - nor speak, or see."
Evil said to divinity.
And we wonder why, when then
We do speak, that
No one seems to be listening.

Time slips through my fingers like
quicksilver kisses.
Forgotten dreams,
haunted days and scream filled memories mark the hours as they darken.

(I know not this creature, nor her needs anymore
she covets all but comfort, as scar tissue stifles her cries)

Spinning wildly now,
shadows heed my warning and run.
Silence whispers gladly
"a friend to none and foe to all"
Loneliness, my redeemer beckons with a knowing smile
and I am lost once more.

I could hear the floor boards creak
and the footsteps closing
my mouth was agape
as I watched the door in anticipation
you paused
your hand readied
but your courage deserted you
I sighed as I heard your retreat
and now after all these years
I still wonder
What if.

A world slowly woke from slumber
Stumbled through a sense of Deja Vu.
Free from sheets of sleep and dreams,
Borrowed stitches pay the seams
Of patchwork quilted promises,
Forgotten threads of make believe.

These halls seem somewhat hollow
A certain sense of sorrow
Now graces ancient stone.
Replacing familiar faces
With defaced family paintings
And cold ancestral bones.
Thrones thrown upon a pyre.
Fate becomes the folly
Tomorrow the unknown,
The brows of time are furrowed
Past spent, lost, or borrowed
Flowers forever bloom alone.
Rats, the last lords of ruin
Rule cruel shadows from the walls.
Twilight sighs at daylight's rise
All seems dark till darkness falls.

I'm somebody's daughter
Made of sugar and gasoline 
I wash away the filth until I bleed 
Desperate to be clean

I'm somebody's daughter

A small and hungry crime scene 
Made of guilt and strawberry cream 
But I never cry in my dreams

I'm somebody's daughter

Trying to become untaught 
They love the sound of sorry 
Even when they know I'm not


Sincerely, someone's daughter