Broken dreams and cast stones
I've bared the burden
now simply rather collect dust.

In every line I breath as in life I simply decay
its all a blast till you see it for what it never was to begin with

Fallen stars and dim lit thoughts cast a jaded view over the night
And it's always a dream just before the nightmare takes hold

When the nightmare begins, I like to technicolor dream
I see the abyss for the small ditch it could be
I see a puddle of tears that won't become a river
never would I cry so incessantly, weep then move on

We can't erase the scars that choke on a dark night
we cant fight the hands that want to hold us down
broken dreams are signs we are ready for the fight
*and every line is the only thing we can own

Imperfect lines carved into skin
etched in deep by sharpened pin
tiny road maps to insanity
little. tiny. tracks. of inhumanity

Gouged into a perfect slate
filled with blood and sealed with hate
a rutted path to macabre damnation
no salvation in the ruination

A meandering road in total eclipse
from empty eyes to barbed wired lips
to the broken heart so badly stitched
stretching all the way to apocalypse

Fragmented memories line the paths
edged by tears of broken glass
echoing in silence of words unsaid
these are roads even the dead fear to tread

she sat
with her back
against
the closed door
but mostly
she laid
upon the floor,
tracing patterns
upon the wood,
whispering wishes
to the choking
dust
knowing she could
just weave a
dreamcatcher
from ****** hair
ripped from
the scalp
or draw an SOS
in the dancing
dust motes
in a silent scream
for help
then she stood,
lightly rapping
upon the door
asking if there
was anything
more
she could do
might do
or say?
When the
demons
screamed
once again
She could do
no other
but
walk away

It will come to everyone, at some stage in their life, an instant stoppage of time, where images blur and fade away only to convescale into tight focus stabbing deep with a sharper pain.

That one thought that paints a thousand pictures of silent screams that no one heard. That instant when you knew all the words you spilled are only piling up as a mound of dirt.

A moment of clarity as clear as the centre of a bubble. That one moment in time when you ask yourself...
am I really that unloveable?

that will be the whisper of a small voice inside an empty space. It's the same question you'll ask of the mirror while looking at the same face.

That one inner warning that hits with piercing clarity. It will come to you, rest assured, when your lost and alone and you don't want charity,
you won't want pity or useless platitudes spilling from dead lips that leak poison from inside. You just want one person, just one, to hear what you say and hold your hand and not try to hide.

That one moment in time should not be a reoccurring event,
but when it is, the shock is less, you become just that little more hardened, and less hell bent,
to share your life and your feelings
and your heart.
It really is a lesson that should be learnt from the start.