Locked

locked up in a cross

that hangs from the rearview

catching the headlights fall

as they rise up ahead of you?

do you keep your secrets

locked up in some cedar box

that sits at the end of your bed

collecting dust and porcelain dolls

keeping hidden all thats dead?

do you keep your trophies

trapped in tiny frames

strategically placed on the wall

hung alone on individual nails

hiding your obvious lack of control?

do you keep your pity

in a glass in case you get thirsty

sitting on your nightstand

ready to spill from overflow

with the slightest touch of your hand?

Have your sins bled from the cross

your secrets escaped from their box

Have your trophies sunken in

your pity finally familiar

As you trip over the truth within

Have your sins finally fallen

Your secrets in a box that swollen

your wall fat with insignificance

Your pity pouring from the nightstand

as you realize you never had a chance