Don’t we all cry,
Don’t we all bl___?
All of us feel,
But some feel the need,
To torture,
To hate,
To make fun of our pain.

So we fall,
And we cry,
We relive it all,
Some fall,
And some die,
But some of them fly.

Their pain,
Has wings,
And can take them away,
To a place,
Where they,
Can have a life to regain.

But some stumble,
Some fall,
And can’t see the sun,
They can’t see the light,
And can’t ever recall,
A time,
Or a place,
When they once laughed.

No memory,
No face,
Of happiness…
…Just fear.

All anger and hate,
Their life fades away,
Before their own eyes,
And they’re left here to face,
Another day.

They’re alone,
And in pain,
And swallowed by fate,
And alone they’re faced,
With another day.



As I look outside the window
I see a sunny day
And hear the laughter of my friends
As they walk away
They’re walking towards the future
Into a better time
The smiles on their faces
Are reflecting in their lives
But as they walk that golden road
I start to look around
No laughter fills this empty room
No sunlight fills this ground
Cold bars across the windows
Strong locks upon the doors
The only key to my escape
Lies in the kitchen drawer
I take a breath of courage
As I turn this little key
And as my head is spinning
I give it one last try
No heads turn nor eyes look up
I give my painful cry
And just before my vision blurs
They’ve almost walked away
Tomorrow they will wake up
To another happy day.







black days wash in sometimes
like an unexpected tide
and you don’t always know why
but there they are

black days are empty days
you can’t enjoy a movie
not if it’s new or even if it’s an old favorite
music doesn’t matter
with depressing music in the background
but even sadness eludes me on the black days
so I don’t care if the singer screams
flowers and sunshine

yes, sometimes you wash in
on a black tide
like a body waiting for forensics
the body has no feeling and
who knows what the tide feels

these days are strange
movies and music can’t distract
you want no conversation, not really
you can’t concentrate on the book you’re reading
read the same line seventeen times
before throwing the book aside

at some point, three a.m. washes in on the tide
and you’re alone
no one to play to, not now
so you find your own tide
something that feels and
with any luck
the tide won’t leave any bodies behind