God, Why? I sit and listen to the noise of this mass confusion, Praying that the reality before my eyes is just an illusion. I feel cast aside and tucked away, abandoned on a shelf, Drifting through these heavy halls where I’m a stranger to myself. I can’t recall the distant hour I last broke down and cried, Wondering if the world I left already thinks I’ve died, Left alone to watch the bitter days go dragging by, With hands outstretched toward the dark, asking: God, why? I pace the floor and wonder what on earth I could have been thinking, Caged inside these narrow walls that never stop their shrinking. I pray with every breath I have that this will be my final fall, Then hold my breath against the door, waiting on the mail call. The guards move on, the names are read, but mine is never heard; Each passing day blurs into one without a single word. I yearn to feel the gentle touch and kiss my butterfly, Swallowing the quiet ache and asking heaven: God, why? It feels so endlessly unfair to bear this heavy cross, To count the minutes in a cell and measure every loss. Yet through the cold and hollow noise, I know one soul still cares— A grace that reaches through the dark to answer all my prayers. She is the most beautiful redhead, a vibrant, glowing light, The only one who's truly glad I'm breathing through the night. So as I look past heavy doors and stare out through the bars, I remember every line I wrote beneath the guiding stars. The heavens keep their quiet path across the open sky, Yet down below, no answers come to soothe the questions why— Why I had to lose my way, and why I must remain so far, Torn away from my butterfly beneath an empty star.
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