To sing of memories

I can't sing here when I come back alone, for my love may not come near. 

Life, it seems, is far down the road.  

I left my childhood in the cupboard with the bread crumbs, So I dream of my memories. I can't help it when the pain drums.  

Pain because I am kept in a prison cell, made by my walls.  

Give out a little yell, scared of the dark where I fell.  

You see, I don't want to pick up the pieces anymore. There is always a shattered heart and soul across the floor.

Just like a flower that is wilted and shakes, the silence looks inside itself, cries in itself, it breaks.  

Now It's two a.m. I'm thinking of you in my mourning.

I smile at memories of old and cry because I'll always be cold.

Author's Note

Boooop