Buried Alive

Life is not a field of daisies,
to those who try to make it roses,
these posers of fly traps,
let off their beauty while eating you alive.

I feel very lonely,
as if I am being buried alive,
I look up at the pine box I am in,
as I realize that dirt has silenced my cries.

Beaten without cause,
hands of many around my throat to stay,
gasping for my last breath of air,
as my last words catch wind and fly away.

Voices in my head,
of those teasers and the lies,
not even one person,
can understand this of my life.





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