Excuse me, may I have your attention please?
I'm screaming, I'm broken, I'm on my knees.
Everyday is a torture, with frustration and fear,
Close  your eyes and look at me, the end is near.

Excuse me, may I have your attention please?
Destruction and desperation is all I see.
Cuts and bruises are crystal clear,
Close your eyes and look at me, the end is near.

Excuse me, may I have your attention please?
I'm exhausted and empty and begging for release.
Today is a blur and numbness is all I hear,
Close your eyes and look at  me, the end is near.

But no, your eyes are open but you're not looking at me,
Your eyelids are blinking but you don't see;
I was trapped but now I surrender my barriers,
The end is not near, no, the end is here.

if i were made out of iron,
then you are my flame--
melted my barriers and,
molded me
to who i am
today.

my heart wants to write something
my mind can't think of anything
my keyboard is waiting
my notepad is empty
white space

looking at my reflection..
"show me your heart" *, i said
I see joy and peace- nothing is dead

In pain, I have so many words
In hopelessness, I see a different world
In desperation, my head is freaking out
But in joy, everything is calm

No words, nothing to write
everything I see is so bright
I don't want my heart and head to fight
From now on, I'll not only speak about my knight

This nothingness reminds me of myself
The happiness I always hide in the shelf

I want to write about it
I want to start seeing it

Everyday - smile, hope and peace
"I tell you to treat yourself precious
and go out and tell us all your adventures"* ,
I said in sweet little whisper.

"no pain can turn you down
stand up and wear your crown"
**looking at my reflection
at last!
For myself, I have given affection.

walls,
worn out with pride
paint,
scratched off with anger
floor,
mudded with vices.

start again.

(and there goes the sound of destruction.
then silence.
all that is left
is a broken wasteland.)

There's a little graveyard
just outside of town
The grass is overgrown
The trees are dead and brown
For as long as I remember
No one's been up there
And from the look of the dead flora
Nobody really cares

It's about a mile east of here
The fence is almost gone
It's never going to get mistaken
for good old forest lawn
There's not a stone of granite
Most are white, or made of wood
There are spots among the headstones
where others may have stood

I thought it was a potter's field
for those destitute and poor
but, upon close examination
i have discovered so much more
The names go back before the war
The civil one I mean
Back before the Pilgrims came
back to sixteen seventeen

There is no history of them at all
The names aren't from this town
But, there they are on ancient stone
Buried in our ground
It's really something different
The feeling of knowing who they were
Were they here in search of riches
Or chasing down the wealth of fur

I've checked all the stones still standing
Two hundred thirty one in all
that includes the stones rough hewn
left leaning by the wall
The town itself was started
Back in eighteen forty two
So compared to those here lying
The town is fairly new

The graveyard is neglected
There's no body here at rest
from since the town was started
laid in this hallowed nest
There's crosses and carved angels
Whole families as well
With this much soul protection
They will never go to hell

No one knows about them
But in this field the dead still lie
About a mile east of Vickston
With the road, cars passing by
No one will go up there
To tend those who came before
So, they'll sleep soft here forever
And dream of life forever more