The walls that are
invisible to the eye
are the hardest
ones to break.

Some things are better off dead
Buried in the ground
The memories stuck in my head
Spiraling around and around

My soul sits in its tomb
My hopes are the coffin it lies in
My inner child is the surrounding gloom
My dreams are the flowers lying on the stone

My trauma make up the walls that surround
My pain is the drawings underground
My soul was buried with the shackles that bind me
I had to bury it all so it would let me breathe

You have to stop looking behind to look ahead
That’s why some things are better off dead

We exist
In the spaces between the lines
In the pages of a story
That we write at different times

We live
In the subtle phrases
In the corners of a poem
That we read in early morning

We love
In between the moments
In a way we can't quite say
That we know is far too dangerous

A woman, who’s really tired,
Hasn’t even go to bed.
It’s past midnight and all over again.
Her bed’s still fully made.

A woman, who’s really tired,
Forgot what sleep is.
She spent herself but stably accepted
Her Destiny’s painful decrees.

A woman, who’s really tired,
Wants simply and plainly to be.
She stopped laughing long ago.
She rarer wants to speak.

A woman, who’s really tired
Of blaming herself for breathe,
A woman, who’s still feeling,
Has simply the right to live!

These halls seem somewhat hollow
A certain sense of sorrow
Now graces ancient stone.
Replacing familiar faces
With defaced family paintings
And cold ancestral bones.
Thrones thrown upon a pyre.
Fate becomes the folly
Tomorrow the unknown,
The brows of time are furrowed
Past spent, lost, or borrowed
Flowers forever bloom alone.
Rats, the last lords of ruin
Rule cruel shadows from the walls.
Twilight sighs at daylight's rise
All seems dark till darkness falls.