These rusted bars can't hold me in
from the outside world, I am nothing more
than the quiet kid who only smiles
when no one looks at her.
I sit here writing in this book
of dreams that will never seem to exist.
These bars are decaying, i'm petrified
of these people who hate me
finding where I am hiding.
I need these people to go away
and never think to search for me
for I've taken shelter in this palace
to escape them all
All of their filthy minds and vulgar sense of humor
they find beauty in things that are sad to see
synthetic happiness and paralyzing glances
forced me out of reality and into my own haven.
Thus here I sit, upon this wet grass
In this humidity I am dying
along with the thousands underground beneath me
they know me better than anyone
I only talk to headstones
because they cannot hear
or judge me for loving someone
they have caught my tears.
