the cure comes with consequence

it's pretty sad that i am just what they said i would become

it's pretty bad that i can't ever seem to go the long run

everything, everywhere is only temporary

so how can i pretend that what i feel is what i'm sharing?

this blue paper it looks better with my tears to stain it

and memories of melancholy times can't rearrange it

the sun has left it's cloudy grave, and it is far too bright now

i don't know who i am with all this light to shed on.


red gleaming pride,

 red gleaming pride

i once used to force my hand to feed you

black broken smile,

 black broken smile

i once used to force my heart to heal you


but now i am healed.



the cold city.

there was a city,

 in the darkest of interstate

driving so far away

just to see the sights.

and i remember the winter frost,

lost under the parking lot

all the beauty of death and love

and every leaveless tree.

burning up the highway

even though there was snow

helping my eyes to leak

helping my mind to grow

i never mentioned this life before,

it was under the sheets forever more

but morning has broken through the black

and now i am ready.

spring has sprung

and left me in shambles

hating the sunshine,

warm against my skin

every pore flowing open

every breath getting difficult to draw

this season is grating

against my patience again.



truth is a buried organ

in the belly tomb of life

and i'm tired of repetative surgery

trying to find the light


so i glance upon a large reflection

of my face in the black of night

i look like someone tore me apart

glued me back together,

with the lines not quite right


cracked and trembling like a mosiac

in a ten-ton truck on a bumpy road

and my heart feels just the same

doctor says anti-psychotics

might change my mind

lighten the load


but these itty-bits of hydrochloride

seem to make me sick

like a sputtering faucet

that dirty's up the sink


and i reach out for your vocal chords

i need to hear your voice

but the silence wraps me up so tight

like a blanket of suffocation.


another pill,

another book read

another life lead

about to end.


may the fabric of my mind endure

the needle and thread

that swims haphazard

sewing up loose ends.



1 Comment
  1. thelifeofjade 14 years ago

    🙂 very nice alyssa, but i think u can still write …. u just havent done it for a while maybe. but its always there … 🙂

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