Down on my knees my hands clasped in prayer.
Praying to God and hoping he's there.
Asking him why my life's gone to hell.
Talking to God and soon he'll tell
me why I feel like I'm living in a cell.
Walled up by my hopes and dreams
listening to the echos of my silent screams
I claw at the walls in moments of madness
I pray to God in moments of sadness
order in my life flees with unnatrual swiftness
I lie on the floor completely listless
I search for cracks in the hell I've made
for a door in my prison, the emotional cascade
of feelings, good and bad, I've emprisoned myself in
a cell with no walls, but the walls are so thin
I listen to the cries of dispair
of others emprisoned, somewhere out there
in there own little hell, not quite like mine,
but we lie to ourselves, and say "I'm just fine."
my life could be better of this I'm sure
if I could only be noticed, not passed over, obscure
if I had the means, the balls and the guts,
I'm sure I could free myself from this little rut
So I search for a partner, someone to love
to share my life with, to think and dream of
I awake from my dream of love with a yell
why would I need anyone.. this is my own personal hell.
 

Written by Becca Carty
 

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