Locked in this body,
flesh is a shell.
Laid out on this bed,
a comforting hell.

See out the window,
the things I'll never see.
Watch a television program,
of the things I'll never be.

Suicide isn't a cope out,
I can take what's mine.
When the only muscle I can move,
is the one called my mind.

Sitting sweetly,
by my bed.
A lone flower,
they call red.

Ladies in white,
but not my angels.
Priests worry their roseries,
and speak their evangels.

What sin did I cause,
why do I deserve this?
A prison I can't escape,
flesh, bars; but can't touch it.

Can't breath on my own,
no lungs to breath deep.
Caught in a horrible nightmare,
can't seem to escape sleep.

There they sit,
day after day.
Red petals like blood,
slowly decay.

The years have gone by,
or so they say.
But in my solitude,
it's still the same day.

They say that I'm older,
but there's no joints to move.
Keep telling me false hopes,
but no substance to prove.

No one visits anymore,
nothing but a broken shell.
Who would want to visit,
a small glimpse of hell?

The glass vase
holds my only friend.
Roses that I can only see,
stayed until the end

12/09/2003