Can light be firm?
Can yellowed, ray,
Cut through darkness,
Like a blade to clay?
Or does the black of night,
Like the deepest well,
Soak up light,
A sponge of hell,
Drawing down, from up above,
To infinity.

Every time I look
Into a mirror,
I ask myself, what
Are you doing here?
You're blonde hair,
Is white as snow.
You're all dressed up
But no place to go.

Down the step,
Behind the chair,
There is something hidden,
I am unaware.
A small confusion,
Some think is there.
Try not to startle,
Move with care,
Discover the Cat's
Newest lair.
This old cat
Is silent now.
No extra noise,
Just a meow.

I believe my Soul has died
And the remnants are locked inside,
My heart and chest, although I tried
To be the person you wanted.
Now I'm a wreck and broken hearted.
Pure dribble I say to all
You aren't seeing my worst at all.