Wednesday, February 23, 2011


these walls do not reverberate,
with music,
nor do they throb,
with laughter.


what remain,
are these thoughts,
scratching away,
leaving bloody trails,
on decrepit souls,
that lead no where.


these walls contain me,
i contain these thoughts,
hope however,
cannot be contained.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


the muse is dead,
buried, with
that which never dies,

these thought may be old,
the memories frayed,
the hurt remains fresh,

a million miles,
take me no farther,
than the reach of a hand,


let me shed these here,
now, let me walk,
away into oblivion.