Inside I be alive...outside I'm in coffin...steady tryna survive...but surely suffocatin... cuz I'm confined to these walls...the prisons getting thicker...I'm at the bottom of the fall...and it's colder than the winter...hands around the bars....fist beating the casket...I'm drowning at the bars....eating fried food baskets...dig me up dig me up...just slide me the key...if I'm drinking from the wrong cup...which one should it be...world can't see it...people don't care...teachers ain't teach it...just that it ain't fair...see when you know what I know you try not to question...but if are where I am you need the intervention...stuck underground with my insides alive.. barely breathin : I don't wanna die...

In dreams of night and dreams of day
I dream of concrete where we lay
In rays of sun: the gaze we weigh.
We stay and wash away the grey
We stay and never fade away
Only in dreams do we ever
               Stay.

Dreams are always dressed in black.
The lack of you I do attack.
Night is where the mind can speak.
You're the only one I seek.
Sleek and steady, I once drew back
In myself I find a crack
But dreams are always dressed on black
And you're the only one I lack.

What makes us great cannot be graded,
What makes us rich cannot be counted,
What makes us happy cannot be bought,
What makes us wanted cannot be caught,
What makes us live cannot be earned,
What makes us love cannot be turned,
What makes us fight cannot be won,
What makes us winners cannot be run,
What makes us strong cannot be held,
What makes us heard cannot be yelled,
What makes us learn cannot be taught,
What makes us dream cannot be thought,
What makes us believe cannot be preached,
What makes us finished cannot be reached

I wish you were a book then you'd be always by my side
Not eight hundred miles and a fourteen hour ride
In my hands I'd hold you gently caring ne'er to break your spine
I would gaze on you for hours, every word and every line
My fingers gently brush aside each page as they're read through
As if they were the golden locks that block your eyes from view
Whether saddened or enlightened or made laugh till I'm bright red
You'd become my happy place, hot chocolate and toasted bread
But even though I know books end and some are hardly true
There are books yet to be written
And this time my story's you

I've been here for a few years now,
leaning back into the wall and waiting for my train.
Six years. I've waited six years
and not realized until just last year
that my train isn't coming.
It never will.

I remember the day we arrived.
Joyful. Hopeful. Eager for an adventure
and ready to leave this God-forsaken town.
June 10, 2007, we arrived: clueless.

The first person passed eight months later,
February 15, 2008.
She has slumped to the ground now. . .
nothing more than a pile of disintegrating bones.
August 12, 2008-- the second person died.
Now he, or what remains of him,
occupies the darkest, shadowed corner.

One by one, my fellow travelers passed
with no warning or sign.
Each body is in a different state of decomposition,
bearing an individual horror story
that will never be heard.
There is no one to hear it.

With each passing dawn,
I prepare myself for death;
as each day breaks,
I'm perpetually surprised that
my eyes open again.
The only thing left to do now is wait --
Wait for my impending death,
Wait to tell the stories of these surrounding skeletons,
And wait for a train that will never arrive.