Sometimes you're beyond tired,
And a little beyond repair,
With paper boats of pain floating,
Containing reasons you cannot share.

A little voice inside you
Craves to be heard,
But you choke it because,
You're afraid of its words.

Because sometimes the light bulb,
Shinning bright against the wall,
Flickers and dies,
Dangling, confused about the fall.

Because the stars are sliding,
Like a child from your skin,
And the darkness, just sometimes,
Submerges even the moon within.
~*~
7:54 p.m.