This throat's been dry for years.
These lungs still scream for air.
And slamming door and breaking glass
can't cover up the tears.
These words mean nothing.
But nothing changes,
and in five more years,
we still won't be heard.
I'm still screaming
Resolution
Writer's Block
We'll Always Have Paris
By Now
Ante Up
We Were
Picking Up The Pieces
Fractures
Critical Thought
Where The Heart Is
Writer's Block
Post Script
Ante Up
Resolution
Four Years Too Late
Where The Heart Is
Sick Of Sleeping
(Re) Acquaintance
Past The Stars
The Scape