My mind is a series

of gardens and graveyards

And the half-dead things

I can't seem to forget

 

Where blood red roses

Border sun-bleached bones

And grey ashes burn

Like cheap cigarettes

 

My mind is a series

 of gardens and graveyards

And the half-dead things

That haunt all of my dreams

 

Where cold statues gaze

Over memories depraved

And lonely ghosts wander

Like long forgotten kings

 

My mind is a series

Of gardens and graveyards

And the half-dead things

That keep me awake

 

But I turn from the ruins

And admire the flowers

That have managed to bloom

Despite my mistakes

 

My mind is a series

Of gardens and graveyards

And all the half-dead things

That wander quietly on

 

And though it is dark

I will carry my scars

Because I know that tomorrow

Will bring a new dawn