If you peel her skull back,
And look inside her mind,
You will find cases filled with memories,
That she keeps labeled and organized.
There is a small one for her dreams,
That has gotten covered up with dust,
For she is always putting off herself,
For those that never cared about her musts.
Then there is another shelf half filled,
That she has labeled "The love that I learned",
And it's been being slowly emptied out,
By those that have borrowed from and never thought to return.
Then you will see one very large,
That is packed more than the rest,
It is labeled, "All that has hurt me",
And she knows every one of the titles and their context.
There is more smaller ones scattered here and there,
With faded titles and broken shelves,
But they're all hiding in the shadows of her silent self torture,
Because we convinced her that there was selfishness in loving herself.

don't cry,
little me...
youll shed your calloused skin
one day,
hatching out of
your candy-wrapper cocoon
of dreams and ribbon in
red,
      white,
               and pink,  
.
.
.

so
give your jaws a rest,

undo your sewn on smile,
with your
skin collapsing on
your cheekbones and
empty eyeholes,
worn,
tired, and d u s t y
.


you will be fine.

Her short hair glimmered, her eyes frantic,
like a deer in the middle of the grass,
her hands at her sides and a small jacket on
as she continued down the dusty path.
Her arms are soft, delicate like feathers
placed around her amidst small floating leaves.
She stood in the sunlight, with lost letters written
mis-spelled out all across her hand in pen of ink.
But still she had to move on, a young man stood
in front of her like a quick spoiled cat, he was dark,
a strange boy with eyes brown and hair solid black,
I still think about this, stuck on grass green parks,
like autumn days, all the wonder and moments we shared.

Rusty dusty pick up trucks
Old Fords and busted Chevys
Trucks that tear the road apart
And some stuck down the levy

Showing off at the truck show
All polished up and nice
When an old man in a beat up Ford
Looked us over once or twice

It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood

I smiled and I watched the gent
Walk and laugh and smile some
He'd mumble something to the girls
And they'd follow to where he'd come

His truck, was old and battered
Wasn't tricked out like the rest
But, when it came to having girls around
This old man was the best

It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood

A truck may last a long long time
But you've got to use it right
You've got to check the engine
And try to run it every night

I remember what the old man said
It's about what's there beneath the hood
The girls don't want it pretty
The girls, they want it good.....

It don't matter how the cover looks
It's what's beneath the hood
You may look awful pretty
But, with no power...it's no good
You wanna get the ladies
Remember, it's what's beneath the hood
Although they like a real good ride
There ain't no ride, if there's no wood

Into the unknown, I walk down braving the heat
Searing and almost burning like hot cement,
Then dry and dusty like burnt sand and rocks.
I fall apart at the doorway, my strength all spent,
Falling into dusty shards of burnt ash.
Before me there is a violin playing as shadowy wraiths sung.
They sing a strange song, and I am visible to everyone,
The windows are on all sides, so I decide to run.
Up the stairs, running slow, feeling as though I can't,
Only finding a piano musty and cold, damp and old,
And I feel I am being watched as I look back
To see his red glowing eyes, as bright as coals.
Then I awaken to a forgiving night. It's cold, dark and black.