It's too soon to live in memories
I try to convince myself
Years don't change everything
I try to convince myself
This is no prison I'm living in
I have the keys, the locks are not broken
I try to convince myself I have a reason
For not using them

Grab a pen and some paper
Some of these are important
I just know they are
These are the things that made me what I am
Aren't they?
The sum total of all my experiences, right?
I need to chronicle and catalog
Separate the wheat from the chaff
This will set me straight
Or maybe not...could be a waste of time

Time takes them away, one by one
Teases, bringing some back
Then snatching them away again
Despite my best efforts
To hoard them
Years don't change everything
The cruel workings of time
Are eternal

Of this I am convinced

I've sacrificed freedom
To live in a cage
To settle for memories
For fear that hurt would break in
And make itself comfortable
Quick to remind me of the memories
It helped make

I'm convinced I have no reason
To break these chains
An empty house, alone
Is better than such bad company

Pills' partys  the last seven years washed unclean.
Streets  now empty past there prime and looking
to score.
Ive lived till the edge is dull.
I sit knowing theres nothing more.

Are we as ****** up as are parents befor?
The answers passed down are but secondhand
mistakes.

As the madess goes from funny to something altogather sad.
My eyes blind yet still able to see.
My own personal hell thoughts of a far off escape.
Hope is but  sweet dellusion not ment for me.

When the flame is gone darkness signals the change.
fake words concern is but a vice carried to the lost soul.
To live in the circle is but to embrace a soft cage.

No life  is a end at its false start.
A chord lost in time.
shadows I chase to there darkest end.

Laughter  hides the so clearly seen.
Hate take's my passion as time take's my
story the final verse to share with none.

Im the ******* of a stranger I know well.
He reflects the prison for which I yern for this nights release.
Dying in seconds  counting hours.

Killing the drug  strangles my air.
A painter never shows his thoughts.
Just covers his canvas.

Tomorrow I will no longer see your failure.
As in days I will embrace the emptyness
you no longer  control.

Vacant is the space windows and empty eyes.
The time 5:oo am  strangers will take the story
rewrite my past.

Lie's  are a freedom I no longer need.
Goobye's a return's promise.
I can no longer say.

Im exhuasted  yet I know its best to fill
the page.
But that southern breeze will  now be my home.

In sunsets i hope you see what never was.
Charm of a maniac  the sense of a legend to never be.
Darkness I wish i had shared tears  are the taste
of a talent  that never was me.

the glass is empty.

She sleeps in the raw in the
house on the hill
and only stirs when the cool
breeze from the open
window chills her

opening one eye she see it's still
dark outside and grabbing the covers she sinks
deeper into sleep in the house on the hill

fading, wandering, dangling on the
edge of morning she awakens rested and
full of the morning sunshine
listening to the birds as she walks naked through
the house on the hill

humming as she washes the sleep from her eyes
and seeing her naked body in the mirror as she dries her face
she wonders how long will the house on the hill
withstand
the turmoil like pain and suffering
that life bestows upon us making us weak like
aged wood

who suffers more, the house on the hill or
human life?
each has it's own life span but as long as the house
on the hill can withstand so shall I but not without change.

copyright@2007 Madeline C. Baxter