BUT NOBODY TOLD ME THE FUNERAL NEVER ENDS.

IT'S BEEN ELEVEN YEARS NOW, AND THE CASKET'S STILL LOWERING.

*"LEAVE ME HERE MOM. LEAVE ME HERE. I'M DEAD TOO."

Down I've worn the tread.
I was born already dead.

Forgive me, dear mother,
For I am dead.
Inside and out.
I can't feel the pyre,
Or the cold grave.

Forgive me, dear father,
This is the day you dread.
I know this is not how it works
I am tired.
You'll just have to wait.

Forgive me, dear brother,
I know you've left.
You have your own
Disasters to live,
I wont be another day.

Forgive me, dear friend,
It is you I've bothered
Every time I was smothered
By the thoughts in my head.
Freedom is on its way.

Forgive me, dear lover,
For I put the noose
around your neck,
Every time I felt dead.
I have to set you free, let you stay.

Forgive me, dear stranger,
You don't need to read this,
I will be gone,
None of this will matter.
You will see a better day.

That Smell  
Lynyrd Skynyrd
For Courts Music Challenge


The stench it fills the nocturne air
Of wicked thoughts and fevered chains
With needles polished none to share
In search of risen stoic veins

To seep within the bloodstream deep
And paint a picture filled with lies
Now drains what sanity you keep
On roadmaps built of bloodshot eyes

This strength you take from solaced fear
Where chemicals now come to play
A weakness coincides your tears
As every moment fades away

Back alley streets of littered death
When life it bids a dark farewell
Oh how the banishment of breath
And echoes crying oh that smell

Time passes
Nothing lasts
Nobody cares
Nobody there
Heart cries
Love hurts
Minds shatter
People go
So alone
Nothing matters
Without you
Lost love
All gone
Just say
Two words

Why is it
That you only look
for stars
When there is no moon
And it is dark

Why is it
That you only know
what you had
When it is time
to say goodbye

Why is it
That the things we have
Always have to wait
While we seek the things
We might never get

Why is it
Among the greenery
of the spring
We forget about the autumn leaves that flew away

Why Is it
I have always grieved
for loss more strongly
than I ever
Felt the love

Why is it
That I always write about things
When it is a little too late
And they are already gone;
Their meanings belittled



Why is it
We are too busy wondering
why someone loves us
Instead of confessing
we feel the same


Why is it
We stare at a moment
till it slips
right out of  our hand
And blurs into a forlorn memory


Why Is it
That we wait
to be sure
Till a chance becomes
another what if

Eyes closed to a fading light
The last beat of a tired heart
Muffled voices, a murmured prayer
A pathway unresolved
What lies ahead?
Endless slumber?
A new beginning?
Not knowing is what I fear.