Where do i belong?
in this cold dark world
she wonders as her arms slowly curl

Where do i belong?
in this unhappy place
she asks as she cries to the sky

Where do i belong?
in this miserable life
she cries ,to the beating heart, she holds inside

Where do i belong?
in this facade of emotions
she asks the mirror on the wall

Where do i belong?
in this terrifying mind
she wonders as she imagines her future

Where do i belong?
in this awful illusion
she imagines as she ends
the future of the unknown

You sit in a room that's dark,
It's silent, pitch black.
in hope of hiding from the chaotic tragedy of the world around you.

A creak in the floorboards due to the natural rotting of a beam that has stood for too long, becomes a demonic presence creeping towards you.
Your mind becomes the origin of paranoia itself.

What was once your home has become a prison,
Your own mind keeps you inside the walls of the voices that you hear and illusions that you see.

******* will do that to you,
But if they try hard enough, so can people.

People can drive you to the point where you see things where there's nothing but empty space,
And to a place where not even the moments before you fall asleep are silent.

A sewn up mouth to stop you from telling their secrets, you'll never unwind the truth that you live to anyone who could help.

Isolation will destroy you, eventually.

there is sincerity in the distance between us. i think i owe you an apology. you keep me at arms length only because i asked you to, yet all i want is to bathe in your presence like i owe you something. to follow the lines of your lips with words unspoken. "death to a saint," you will tell me, "this is not you." i will kiss away your remaining sanctity, like light kisses away dark depths of forgotten i miss you's and the sound of your pleas — they sound a lot like "tell me something good to get me by."

I could feel your absence as much as your presence.
2. You were the sun and now you are gone.
3. All is without life.

He followed the buck past
the wormwood barn

down the game trail
into and out of

three hundred yards
of multiflora rose

(so thick his jeans
raveled like terrycloth)

to shoot and leave for
dead, walked away.

Inside the marrow
of Winter's bone
breathes a sparrow
goodbye is not goodbye
a broken record
the **** of memory
moments paused
eventually play on
all is not lost
but found in the echo
the neverending
sound mind

It appears
I am the Autumn leaf
bereft of color
left at the foot
of your tree
forgotten by all
parts of you
except memory
I've lost all but me