On the outskirts of life
is an island.
A place where people
not often go.
A destination of what
people don't show,
and few do not want to know.

A world that has no bars
is perfect.
But that is not what's found there.
For this island holds the untold.
And most often is regarded
as the unknown.

It floats on the shadows
of people.
And the wind is fueled by their despair.
The sand is stain blood shot red,
because this is the island
of secrets dead.

Not many know of it,
few want to believe in it,
but it's in every one
of our heads.