When the bed that you made, fades into the background
and emptiness sounds in your ears
where the pain that you feel
is the only thing real
as it has been for so many years

In that place where we all stand and look for salvation
with declarations or protestations of innocence,
where the incense burns sweet
it is there that we'll meet,
the answers to questions when we never questioned the answers we were led to believe.

Heaven or hell and for some it's just limbo,it's not important to believe,but what we leave in our wake,like the beds that we make is real
and this is the pain that we feel when we can't sleep at night
when nothing seems right
and even with my eyes shut so tight
the light of it breaks in.

I am the doll with a pin in its heart
the right place, the wrong start
the old horse before the cart
and that will not do.
I wander through this musing,losing my mind one day at a time and it still is not real,unlike the pain I can feel and the pin in my heart burns.

Life can be a pit stop,a **** stop,a posh shop,a pound shop but it's the only thing we know and the questions go on,
the answers take so long to appear.
I do not fear the pain and would do it all again if it all became clear to me,if only the fog that envelops me would lift or shift or move away
to show the way
the only way
perhaps another day.