Where do we go from here?
Are we past the rocky mountains, the faded grasses and the sandy deserts?
Staring out to the backyard... could never seem to look my eyes over the wooden fences. Can't help wonder if I'm the only person who thinks this way, am I the only person who looks in the mirror and cries touching there face trying so hard to believe this isn't real... trying so hard to believe it is.
Am I past everything now... or is there more behind the lavender flowers and the tall daisies?

The trees so tall and the clouds so fluffy... I'll never be able to touch them... never. Is there more out there, more to the nursery rhymes and the hopscotch games we used to play as a kid? Is there more to torn hearts... more to the stars that shine in the night's sky? Is there more....

The wet tears that seem to cloud up in my eyes no longer allowing me to see... is there more behind that feeling I get in my nose when I know that the raindrops from my eyes are going to fall?

I'll be here I always say, wondering about everything. Head in the clouds. Studying, watching.

Nothing ever being perfect, never being able to heal the scars right, never being able to get every weed out of that garden I look upon in my backyard. Never being able to get rid of every teardrop stain in my pillowcase... never.

I can't memorize the songs for you, can't tell you what to feel. Can't look upon you everyday and be your guardian angel... hell, if I did that for everyone... who would do it for me.

Pretty eyes… a fading hazel… why the long face… you’ve been broken that much? Come now, another stitch to add.

Another pen to paper... another dream, another restless night. More coffee. Less sleep.

Shadows. Beautifully placed in my mind. Sorry, you can't see them... you can't see me either. They're hiding me, binding me... hurting me. Black suitcases rest under my eyes waiting for someone to pick them up and leave... I guess no one's told them that the insomniac that left them there won't be coming to get them anytime soon.

Pictures... what's the point? To capture a memory, a memory of what? Even with a smile on your face when you get the pictures back you'll know that behind those pretty eyes... hazel eyes... there's nothing but words... words and pain... mixed with a big pot of coffee. Who would want to capture a picture of a broken girl? Broken... just broken.

I'll keep you guessing though. You'll see me one day. Past the fields of faded green grasses and past the rocky mountains.

Today I looked beyond the lavender flowers and the tall daises... today I looked over and past the tall wooden fences. There's more beyond the walls that bind us here, I swear. There's more. Peel away the stitches that stitch you together… we don't need them anymore. Run free broken angel... fly home... fly over the flowers, the sticks, and the picker bushes... I’ll take a picture of you... pretty eyes... hazel eyes... beautiful as ever in that broken way. Broken... just broken.