I'm not even sleepy or tired anymore
But there is nothing for me to do while I'm awake
My days are getting shorter
Im sleeping every moment away
I try to fill my day with activity
Even simple ones
But there is nothing for me to do
Im ignored by everyone
Or maybe just forgoten
So communication is very rare
When im not asleep
Im in my bed
Fallin asleep
Everything has lost feeling
Has lost meaning
Im empty
I would say my stomach dropped
But it is not there
I have forgoten how to act
Outside of my room
In front of people
When a simple stranger says hello
Im surprised
My days are filled with nothingness
And i have become the nothingness they are filled with

ChestNuts roesting on an open fire
Roesting over the flames of yuor forgoten love
Ash
Burnt too a Crisp (This is what they call Chips in Englis )

Mother's' love showed me the Love I needed from yuo
England they call them Crisps
Eating Chest Nuts is scrumptous
Training my ***** in the Art Of War

The glass is not half empty nor is it half full.
It is not to dark or to light.
I am not happy nor am I sad.
I am not vengeful or even merciful.
I am not angery nor content.
I am not loved or forgoten
I am stuck in the middle,
the one thing i am is annoyed.

It was a cart once made for shopping
Now lost and long forgoten
It was a cart once silver and shiny
Now old, disgusting and grimy

She found it there in an unused lot
It was exactly what she had sought
In it she placed her worldly belongings
Including her hopes, her dreams, and longings

She took it with her wherever she went
Hours organizing it where spent
Not one thing about that cart was inept
She knew every scrap of paper, and were it was kept
There was room for her clothes, she had very few
Far less than anyone knew
A spot for the table scraps she managed to find
Who knew you could live on less than a dime

But there in the middle you'll find two old tattered tins
Her most prized possessions where tucked safely within

One tin was for the past and things that are no more
With child like eyes, she'd peek in and explore
For both Joy and Sorrow are contained inside
Amongst the Polaroids of life, a lock of child's hair did reside

The other was for her hopes and dreams
They carried her on, when there seemed to be no means
Even when all the dreams eventually explode and collide
Hope will still be standing strong by her side

Her life as it is now, out here on the streets
Was unexpected, not planned...... the memory repeats

A bright sunny day
Soaking up the sun's rays
Both out by their pool
Him sitting at the bar on a stool
But little boys sure do like to giggle
They squirm, and they wiggle

Her out stretched fingers grazed his shirt as he fell
Her screams of anguish no one could quail
As she held his limp body pleading for him to open his eyes
Screaming at the heavens..... WHY.... WHY.... WHY

Now on this block you can find her every day
Pushing that shopping cart as she limps and she sways
Come bare witness to the sad aftermath
One split second, changed a life's path

©Pauline Russell

young lovers know that traggic passion blind to failure
blind to everything that doesnt see them togather.
So in early morning passion just befor light.
they slip off togather dreams and hope taken along
for the ride.

long brown chessnut colored hair flowing out the window
along with are dreams.
A fence post marker the road togther holds
a certin magic it seems.

Love made from state to state
the waterfall to which we did race
skinny dippin togather by that old forgoten place
Your naked  beauty etched within my mind along with
the hapinees reflected from your face.

Broke down in blue springs Missouri.
Now i dont question why your eyes
were overcast with worry.

Apart the nightmare cant erase thoose nights spent
laying in blissful silence your head apon my chest.
Memories depend apon your view.
I 'll just kiss the that jasmine scented southern
breeze for the rest.

My darlin I ask fingers interlocked
with time my heart what shall be
are plan.
A tear touches that vision of a face.
As you recall the memories of when togather we
ran.

When I was a kid I would pick at my scabs and re-open wounds on purpose. I just liked how it showed that I didn't fear getting hurt. My proof that I wouldn't let anything get the better of me.
Maybe it was all of the 'Xena: warrior princess' episodes I watched. I dont know.

I still check if theyre still there. I still brag about how I got them to everyone, even if it wasn't asked. Even the silliest ones. The one on my wrist from a scared antisocial cat, whom i gained the trust of in the end.

The one on my head which required three stitched, given to me by my brother when throwing a ping-pong racket at me. He felt so guilty that gave me his favorite game, and tried to pay for the hospital bill.

The ones on my knees from when I fell of my skateboard and broke my computer on my way to give a class presentation. I had recieved a perfect grade after having talked to a class who stared at my ****** and shaky knees.
They had all hurt, but each one has a lesson, and a dear memory. Never to be forgoten.

And why try?
Even the ones that you can't see will remind you. The broken bones and the torn muscles. They all leave a subtle mark of their existance.

Fallen Fables Forgoten Forever Frightenly Following Forceful Kings, Ruled Without Purpose And Gain, Fascinated By The Greatness Only Imagined, Fighting For Chances To Break Free And Fly High Above The World To The Highest Power, Along With Enlightment And The Truth Of Self Beauty And Wisdom They Crave To Experience, Ultimately Tripping And Forever Being Trapped Watching The Blessed And HardWorking Ones Become The Imaginable.

They are beautiful
Silent, but loud
Peaceful, yet dangerous

Can they be trusted?
Are the secrets that are hidden,
too longed to be forgoten

They can open as they bloom and close in harsh winters

Are the barriers of choice too strong to be broken?

I am more broken than I seem to be. Because there is nothing to this goldening mask just lines of glass cutting through the ice of this soul. And it sits on my face to hide the pain. No eyes, not even my can bare to see. The mess that was once so clean. Angels Will never help my forgoten glow, it was lost in the sea cold. Now to I, death will never be old. Shall I be more broken than I seem.
By me