I lie awake in my bed
all these uncontained thoughts
running around in my head.
Color and light,
ideas that are glaring and bright
seep into my head during the long nights.
But I'm restless, dark thoughts
pulling me down
and making me breathless.
So I take a sleeping pill,
wait for it to lift the weight
of the desperate dreams they ****.
But along with it,
the rainbow dims and flickers,
becoming a monochrome
that reminds me all to much
of the world we call home.

I locked my lips
And threw away the key
So why is it
That you still can't put your trust in me?

Gently, gently,
pick up this dying child.
Gently, gently,
caress this soft cheek.
Gently, gently,
sob as her skin pales.
Gently, gently,
rock her back and forth in your arms.
Gently, gently,
set her cold body down to rest.
Gently, gently,
wet this corpse with your tears.
Gently, gently,
stroke her blonde hair for the last time.
Gently, gently,
kiss her forehead and say goodbye.
Gently, gently,
weep as her body disappears beneath the dirt.
Gently, gently,
caress the worn image of her laughing face
and smile.

I raise my gaze toward the pale blue sky,
staring out my window as I watch the world go by.
Pale cheek pressed against a ****** hand,
I daydream of travelling across unknown lands.
Fantasy worlds and magic forests tug at the back of my mind,
things that only characters in books could ever really find.
But always stuck in my room, nothing around,
how can I truly know what wonders abound?
To a prisoner, fiction is being free --
something that I know I never will be.
My frail fingers trace the words engraved on the window's wood --
"Your mind will let you be what no one else ever could."
Except how can it really let me live
if life is a present that no one will give?

Under the pale blue sky
A small bird chirps softly as it watches the world go by.
Soft green grasses wave in the breeze
As the rose's heavy perfume tickles my nose and makes me sneeze.
Your eyes dart toward me, a dashing golden hue
And I stand stalk still to study you.
Long ears flick back and forth, covered in waves of silk
And I can make out a small cotton tail the color of buttermilk.
You glance over your shoulder, wide eyes studying me
before you spring across the meadow, happily free.

"Pretty girls don't smile!"
Those are the words of wisdom
fake soothsayers preached,
not thinking that she'd listen.
Alas... now she's cold as ice.