I keep the memories locked away,
never to see the light of day.
Grief is just beyond that door
where I lie upon the floor
begging you "please don't die".
Asking God " why, why, why ?"
I closed the door on that day
to keep those memories at bay.
My heart, it could stand no more
of what I'd locked behind that door.
Guilt and grief, sadness, pain.
Knowing I'd never see you again.
Suicide is such an ugly word.
Much too ugly to be heard,
so I keep the memories locked away
to never see the light of day.
for Constance's "Memories Beyond the Door"