Some times its hard to find my voice.
Life has a mean grip when you don't know what to say.
I avoid mirrors as if my reflection would reveal what I really thought.
You see sometimes i get down on my knees to pray not knowing if i have the strength to get back up.
The church pews have always been like prison to me.
Shackled to my sins i serve life in your house.
I write letters that i have no intention on sending.
I get lost in the words as if it were the climax of my favorite book.
The nights are the worst.
I sit awake in my bed next to the window looking at the stars for guidance.
As a boy I used to trace them with my finger till I got to the point when they made no more sense than the time I told myself that I was happy.
I'm held down by the same pathways that I weave with this pen.
Pages in a book that I've never shown anyone.
Hidden away in a box underneath my bed.
It's funny that the same place that I keep all my secrets is the same place that lets me hide myself.
You can say that I did this to myself.
I'll tell you that you might be right.
Because it's hard to escape when you have no voice.
