This is the sound of silence
of giving up hope once more
Always breaking promises.
Is the world ending? I'm aching.
Funny how the most human stories
are told by puppets & fish.
I want to reach into the soft underbelly
of the little girl I once was
Twist her insides and shake her until
all the brass pennies fall and the
weight from the sparkles in her pupils are lifted.
You were so good
You didn't have to be
everything they thought you should.
And now what is the answer
Don't cry over spilled paint on denim
Smile about it and remember
What bravado you had before the world crushed it like a bug
Head to thorax, folded in.
I guess the moral of the emptiness is that it will never be
Never ever be
As good as it is in my head.
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