Staring out In the open I feel so closed in so frozen it's a feeling that can't be spoken it's just simply being stuck out in the open but the walls feel closed in this feelings so Imposing myself has been stolen...

Angel torruella

Pretty girls
Open roads
Why am I thinking
Of *you?

A beautiful soul,
destroyed by society,
and left to die.
She was unique.
She danced to her
own music.
They chastised her,
tearing down the wall.
Her bricks were
torn from the barrier.
The barrier she created,
to keep her alive.
They destroyed it;
now she's gone.
They tied a noose for her.
They pulled the chair,
slowly hanging her,
letting her fade into the night.
The day before
she turned 15,
was the last of
her days on Earth.
She would breath no more.
Love no more.
Slice her wrists,
no
more.
They no longer have
a punching bag.

Her mother let out
a shrill cry,
as she entered her
only child's
room to wake
her for school.
To send her to
the torture chamber.
The place that
gently placed
the rope around
her neck.

Three days later,
she is buried.
Six feet down,
she is put in the ground.
The murderers
gather around the grave,
crying fake,
forced tears.
They have no remorse.
They have done their damage.
A beautiful soul,
destroyed by society,
and left to die.

often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman's love,
no wealth
can
match it.
nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.
the hordes from
closing in.
it blasts the
darkness.
writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
death.
it knows no
quit.
and writing
laughs
at itself,
at pain.
it is the last
expectation,
the last
explanation.
that's
what it
is.
from blank gun silencer - 1991