I am a rage room,
Expliots of yesterday tumble within,
They see no shore,their voice goes thin,
They pry ,they seek this anger bashes them meek,
I trace these walls with a tender persuit,
To veil the blood that I ensued,
I'm these walls of flesh in an out,
Escape is clutched and dissolves within,
For in this rage room death is a sin,
I admire and then retire to these braided walls,
So perfectly aligned yet in all odds,
Rose i have never come to see,
Since when did beeding from the thorns become my destiny?

Birds cannot nest in the sky,
Even if in the sky they wish to perpetually pry,
The earth sinks them in over time their bodies turn weary and thin,
They flap in the distant sky,
Oblivious to my envious eye,
Oh how i yearn to flap my wings,
Ruminate no longer of my sufferings,
Know no god or his mercy,
Know no greed to have mans heed,

I write for no noble cause,
I spill all I never was,
Selfishly I prey on hate,
And engulf it without debate,
My heart beats and death it cheats,
Oblivious to my minds defeat.

I have yet to feel warm in this stagnant cold water,

I have yet to become my father's loving daughter.

He who's empty
  has no fear:
  there's nothing
  to be taken away
  he holds nothing dear-
  
life is illusive
like will-o'-the-wisp
to have dreams
is to be deceived-

he who's empty
doesn't seek to compete
win or achieve
in being nothing
he doesn't lose anything-
unseen, unknown and unnoticed
he retains his life's intrinsic