i taste ashes on my tongue
my will drained like wine
on a wednsday night

i still feel so numb
my motivation dies like vines
left to wither with no light

she was a good christian girl; long brown hair, never dyed, with pretty brown eyes that only wore makeup on Sundays; her 'only God can judge us' attitude a red balloon in a bare room where people didn't really understand her conviction.

he was not in the prediction; bad boy streak with brows pierced and arms inked, he smelled of cigarette smoke and broken dreams and everything she wasn't allowed to be; she liked it.

there is no poetry inside me
my veins have been bled dry
my heart once soaked is empty
without poetry i might die

the trees are burning
and the worlds a turning
toilet paper cannot be found

we're sick of the struggle
we stay in and snuggle
pray we make it safe and sound