Locked in the cradle of influence.
Rocked back and forth with songs not your own.
Speak their minds
all the time.

Push against the rails of innocence.
Hear your cries return to your own mouth.
Choke on it
echo it.

Poison your mind with your need to please.
Fight them and yourself to be yourself.
See the world
hear its hurt.

Crawl to the door try to open it.
It yields some, but not always enough.
"Let me out!"
let me out

"Let me out!"
let me out
"Let me out!"
let me out

let me out
.
..
...

I walked into the ocean looking for Death
And I found myself quickly out of my depth.
My ears rang so loud; then I heard nothing.
I had gone deaf to my own suffering.

Somewhere, there is a house upon a hilltop
that still has the shakes
of life that once lived within it.
Shivering with memories
of children's feet pounding
through the halls as they played.
They were the blood racing through its veins.

Yet all races must come to an end.

Now the house is nothing more
than a reminder of the past
that's unsteady; it shakes
like hands that have held too much.
The house is nothing more
than gaping windows, knocked out doors
and peeling paint;
that shudders in the terrible breeze.

If you choose to draw a line in the sand,
then be wary when the winds start to blow.

Ticking clocks, ticking clocks.
Why won't you stop?
I've pulled the numbers right off
yet you tick and you tock.
Like a key turned in a lock
to lock and then unlock
over and over again.

Ticking clocks, ticking clocks.
Why won't you stop?
I've ripped your hands off,
yet you tick and you tock.
I tore your heart out
and yet it still beats
over and over again.

Ticking clocks, ticking clocks.
Why won't you stop?
I put a knife through my chest
yet you tick and still tock.
Like time does not stop
even when my heart is wrought
with pain,
with pain,
with pain.

The ground is dimpled with different footprints
large and small
deep and shallow
human and animal
Some have more depth than others ever could
having walked miles and miles.

To be light on ones toes
is a characteristic
of those not old
of those not tired
or of those who are sneaking.
I'm not sure how to decipher these prints.

But we can learn much from the steps of others.

There is truth in how we walk
with strong, deep steps
or light strides
weighted with experience
or floating in the feeling of living.

The reason behind the steps we take in life
are sometimes never known
are sometimes never noticed
we keep our heads down
but we don't see that we're walking
on a path that has been walked before.

How come we walked like this?
Who walked and tripped?
Who stepped in the trap?
How did the earth disappear beneath them?

These footprints are ancient,
preserved to reach a modern time
but their reasons were left far behind.

Sometimes we are left with all the evidence.
Sometimes we have all the facts,
but none of the reasons.
Sometimes we vow to find those reasons.
Sometimes we are content to let it remain unknown.