Seal.

I don't want to speak,
for I don't want to let it all out.
The tears are pushing against my lids,
just too desperate to seep out,
I want to seal my lips forever,
take this secret with me to grave,
I'm sure there's nothing I can do,
to save myself from this disgrace.
I want to seal myself in a shell,
so that I don't have to tell,
the broken stories that make me.

Of What Is Left.

Black and white photos,
old tunes from a guitar,
leftover pencil shavings,
memories from a land so far,
a broken CD playing,
in the silence of the messy room,
the musty smell of old cologne,
aggravating the gloom,
the echoes of laughter,
the remnants of joy,
the moisture of tears,
the happily ever afters,
everything such a distant memory,
like an abandoned dry leaf from a tree,
in the autumns of solitude,
every little wound so helpless and nude.
Familiar faces follow me around,
their footsteps I hear like vivid sounds,
they whisper in my ears about the past,
of how everything ended so very fast,
when I turn back to look behind me,
I'm warned I will turn to stone,
but I don't seem to mind since,
I'm sure it's better than feeling so alone.
The tunes from the guitar,
the melodies from the violin,
the keys of the piano that danced,
all play in my head together,
the sounds get louder and louder,
the beats faster and faster,
I'm shaking till the core,
I can't take any more,
but this feeling fails to end,
for pain has become my friend.
As I'm spinning in a vortex of time,
I hear distant bells chime,
in an array of haphazard vignettes,
I witness so many silhouettes,
of my loved ones, each one by one,
of those I left behind to run,
off to greener pastures I once craved,
of the illusions that left me shaved.
Sighs are left to echo in the calm,
I'm alone to stare at my palms,
trying to decipher what lines say,
whether they too would betray,

What I Am.

A worthless shadow climbing a wall,
just another drop in the ocean,
another illusion just to allure,
that's what I am, that's all.
A tale forgotten, a story told,
a battered soul, so tattered and old,
a soul devoid of any essence,
a rose missing its own fragrance,
that's what I am, that's all.
A forlorn drop of bloody rains,
someone who has wept in vain,
an abandoned soda can on the ground,
a song so strange without a sound,
that what I am, that's all.