| Stretching past the point of bouncing back, I can not look beyond the blackness of your heart. The screams from your solitude in detention are making me deaf. If you don't quiet down no one would ever find you. The key to your cell has been cast into the gnarled roots of lost dreams. They die before your mind can be freed of prejudice. Take back what you forgot to be yours. |
Victoria M Whitby
6/13/04