Walking inside this convict.
Feeling trapped, deep within,
If only I could find deliverance,
From my sorest sin..
A bruise that’s doesn’t stop hurting,
A scar that never heals.
Yet I keep on trying..
Defying all I’ll never feel.
When words deny their meaning,
When dead will meet his end.
There I’ll find you sore and kneeling.
Crying for ink, and the things they meant.
The papers have been burned.
The fire feeds each word.
Burning out, for each line has been said out loud.
A sound, which makes my stomach turn.
Why couldn’t it set me free.
Why should I, as always just leave it be.
For I am chained, bound to each word.
But your silence is all that truly earned.
For a rose on my grave, a tear on my cheek.. I shall write ‘till the end of days.