Life Itself

Tiny feet in shoes too big, trying to hide from yesterdays of guilt. Frantic pace in a whirlwind of treason largish steps afraid of the reason. Clitter, clatter, spring, winter, autumn, there's no end to dreams unforgotten. 8, suddenly 19 tomorrow is yesterday smack! her creation, her destruction. A pitiful picture, feet too big, sticking out of shoes too small.

Disheveled, dirty unkempt, unclean. A smirk that covers everything seen Notorious sad movements hiding innocent dreams Cut, bruised hands behind pocket seams. Eight, nine maybe, experiences deceive and observing minds perceive -E ighteen. A child actor On an old broken stage With shimmering ways and eyes that assuage He understands yet pretends to remain just a little child smiling while the innocence stays.

You are my secret, dark, twisted and leashed. You are my horror kept inside, unseen. I shooed my thoughts, burnt the malady. I deafened my senses blinded my dreams. Then The radio-silence The tortured screams The clandestine pain The aghast belief. Erased? Maybe, will never be.