My life is a road over the bones, Everything I have lived for soon will leave all alone! I try not to think about things like that, But once it turns dark my mind starts running. Ok, I'll let you in, but don't forget to bring flowers. Why? Because you'll find somewhere to put them. Walking through the graveyard slowly sentiment grows And warm memories sneak up as we sit down reminiscing about what we've lost. "You haven't been here for long. What happened?" Sunken gravestones, crosses. Feels like something is moving underground. There is so much disappointment, anger and betrayal lying underneath, making the ground pulse. Mud drowns the sounds of anger and betrayal and I act like I don't hear it. Here sleeps the reason why I wake up every day. Tears and sweat were given when I gave them life. Gave a promise to keep them alive, So they could get betrayed soon after. And here I am in the middle of the night writing something just to bury it six feet under. When you put peace of yourself in work, where does it go? Where does the soul go when it plays sorrow piano? And no one is near to feel how it rebirths. And no one is here to speak for it like prophets speak of God. Where does the unborn poems, stories and songs go? Which arent with us because they get buried too fast and get forgotten of. Do they have their own paradise and hell? If they did i wouldn't visit this place over and over. Because all of my unborn poems are buried down to rot. Do you see this?! I'm glad you made it! I shouldn't talk about this, I shouldn't show how much it hurts to kill my children while their brothers are waiting their turn to get buried. I cry about every night. I look in emptiness and wait for hope while walking over the graves stuck in time.