Life is a struggle

Her scorching scream

Is as silent as death.

A crusade 

Within her conscious

In black and white form.

Fighting the polluted air

Reaching anyone 

But those who cannot hear.

Her throat is bleeding

The harder she tries.

But that is reality, it seems.

You cannot voice everything

You want to express. 

You cannot word the feelings 

The way it exists within you.

She might not be able to scream 

As she would prefer

But she will sigh

Until she can roar

Like the Lioness that she is.

Awake or Asleep..

I lay back, close my eyes, and float in the rhythm of my dreams..
And when once my dreams were an escape from reality..
Reality has come to haunt me to my bed,
As it has graved itself at the core of my subconscious.
Now I cannot tell between being awake or asleep..
The pain feels the same in both worlds..
The guilt tastes sour, choking me.
There is no relief, but heightened stress..
Drowning by my own misery, my own history.
Is there a writer out there..
Who could rewrite my yesterdays
And glamour them with sugar-coated lies?
Maybe I could be manipulated that all these dreams and reality
Are the stories of a character in a book..
A sad old dusty book.
That has nothing to do with me.
That I’m just a reader of my story.