love is all there is...

Page upon page confessing my sins, my failures, my pain. Everyday I write them, over and over again, and everyday I erase them, word by word they sink to the back of my mind, where they crouch like tigers in long grass... like cobwebs in a corner, dusty... grey.. forgotten. Everyday I start new, writing the letters to free myself from this prison, this life I am stuck in, this life that is death, that I do not want. Each morning I compose a new one, each afternoon I edit again and again... Confessing my anguish, over and over again.. begging for help, for freedom. I am trapped in this skin, in this maimed shell, in this prison...with my letters. My unwritten pleas, my hopes and my dreams and my nightmares and screams..

I am damaged. I am damaged. The letters will never be written. I will write them over and over again, in my head, confessing my sins, betraying myself in my head again and again and again.. and it never ends. The letters will never be written, for to confess my pain would be, in itself, a sin. I am damaged, like a package that UPS wasn't careful with...I am damaged, and I have no insurance...These letters I write over and over again, in my head..to my doctor, my teacher, my imaginary friend.. but who would ever take the time to read them? They will remain unwritten; I will never confess to my misery, this lonliness and horror that eats my soul from within, like a moth in the closet feasting on old linen. These letters, these letters...I erase them again and again. These letters... and I am damaged...

They say death brings peace...If I write a letter to God, will he answer me then?

Everyday I write the letters. I write them in my head... over and over..

Page upon page confessing my sins, my failures, my pain. Everyday I write them, over and over again, and everyday I erase them, word by word they sink to the back of my mind, where they crouch like tigers in long grass... like cobwebs in a corner, dusty... grey.. forgotten. Everyday I start new, writing the letters to free myself from this prison, this life I am stuck in, this life that is death, that I do not want. Each morning I compose a new one, each afternoon I edit again and again... Confessing my anguish, over and over again.. begging for help, for freedom. I am trapped in this skin, in this maimed shell, in this prison...with my letters. My unwritten pleas, my hopes and my dreams and my nightmares and screams..

I am damaged. I am damaged. The letters will never be written. I will write them over and over again, in my head, confessing my sins, betraying myself in my head again and again and again.. and it never ends. The letters will never be written, for to confess my pain would be, in itself, a sin. I am damaged, like a package that UPS wasn't careful with...I am damaged, and I have no insurance...These letters I write over and over again, in my head..to my doctor, my teacher, my imaginary friend.. but who would ever take the time to read them? They will remain unwritten; I will never confess to my misery, this lonliness and horror that eats my soul from within, like a moth in the closet feasting on old linen. These letters, these letters...I erase them again and again. These letters... and I am damaged...

They say death brings peace...If I write a letter to God, will he answer me then?

Everyday I write the letters. I write them in my head... over and over..

Page upon page confessing my sins, my failures, my pain. Everyday I write them, over and over again, and everyday I erase them, word by word they sink to the back of my mind, where they crouch like tigers in long grass... like cobwebs in a corner, dusty... grey.. forgotten. Everyday I start new, writing the letters to free myself from this prison, this life I am stuck in, this life that is death, that I do not want. Each morning I compose a new one, each afternoon I edit again and again... Confessing my anguish, over and over again.. begging for help, for freedom. I am trapped in this skin, in this maimed shell, in this prison...with my letters. My unwritten pleas, my hopes and my dreams and my nightmares and screams..

I am damaged. I am damaged. The letters will never be written. I will write them over and over again, in my head, confessing my sins, betraying myself in my head again and again and again.. and it never ends. The letters will never be written, for to confess my pain would be, in itself, a sin. I am damaged, like a package that UPS wasn't careful with...I am damaged, and I have no insurance...These letters I write over and over again, in my head..to my doctor, my teacher, my imaginary friend.. but who would ever take the time to read them? They will remain unwritten; I will never confess to my misery, this lonliness and horror that eats my soul from within, like a moth in the closet feasting on old linen. These letters, these letters...I erase them again and again. These letters... and I am damaged...

They say death brings peace...If I write a letter to God, will he answer me then?

Everyday I write the letters. I write them in my head... over and over..

Page upon page confessing my sins, my failures, my pain. Everyday I write them, over and over again, and everyday I erase them, word by word they sink to the back of my mind, where they crouch like tigers in long grass... like cobwebs in a corner, dusty... grey.. forgotten. Everyday I start new, writing the letters to free myself from this prison, this life I am stuck in, this life that is death, that I do not want. Each morning I compose a new one, each afternoon I edit again and again... Confessing my anguish, over and over again.. begging for help, for freedom. I am trapped in this skin, in this maimed shell, in this prison...with my letters. My unwritten pleas, my hopes and my dreams and my nightmares and screams..

I am damaged. I am damaged. The letters will never be written. I will write them over and over again, in my head, confessing my sins, betraying myself in my head again and again and again.. and it never ends. The letters will never be written, for to confess my pain would be, in itself, a sin. I am damaged, like a package that UPS wasn't careful with...I am damaged, and I have no insurance...These letters I write over and over again, in my head..to my doctor, my teacher, my imaginary friend.. but who would ever take the time to read them? They will remain unwritten; I will never confess to my misery, this lonliness and horror that eats my soul from within, like a moth in the closet feasting on old linen. These letters, these letters...I erase them again and again. These letters... and I am damaged...

They say death brings peace...If I write a letter to God, will he answer me then?