As day turns to night,
and dark turns to light,
I see the curruption,
of the twisted truth.
The quizzicle meaning to the deepest questions,
Will my life ever resolve?
Or will it continue to consume me?
Consume me until I look like the wretched stank of confusion,
the twisted form in which the key lies.
Because the mystery remains,
but will be found,
the key to my heart lies within the crumbeled walls of my existance.
Melissa Cech is fourteen-years-old. She also wrote the poem The Dance appearing in this issue of Kid Ink.