She hold her life in her hands as if it were weightless. Sitting on the edge of sadness and great peril, The windowsill, open and ushering in an autumn breeze. She places the gun to her head, Her hands move all on their own. Unconsciously, fingering the trigger. Ready to pass judgment upon her skull.
Forgotten lore from long ago, Reminded daily of where I flow. Encouraged daily by your presence; Established constantly by your essence. Many a time I wish I new, What it was, I was to do. Capture freedom or living slave? Rocket mounted but Misbehaved… Wicked style that pervades my empathy, Foolish folly all leads
Welcome to the Psyche Ward Where am I? I had these episodes often. I would wake up, not knowing where I was or how I got there. I was fortunate, however, to always be found by a nurse. I never thought I could like a place like this… I remember the first day my parents