It's been a while since there's been a notion of feelings on a napkin, reciting things as if I was talking to the nation.
Perhaps it gets harder when your knees start to tremble in your jeans; slowly everything starts to shake out of its place.
All that is known is that these eyes can't read a damn thing, my hands won't keep still; and I'm just practicing in the mirror.
With that being said; I haven't gotten past the first sentence, haven't pronounced the first letter to start this all off.
Figures how I thought I had this all full proof; every word I've written down, I've refused to use and taken an alternate route.
This is the crumpled piece of paper you've found in my fists; it may make more sense only because my heart doesn't have lips.
When it comes to grammar, my heart ignores the slightest habit of making all these errors, because there are no rules or principals in love.
I'm no judge of my own writing, but my heart hopes my body's feeble mind will be able to be the interpreter of all of this.
To make sense, not necessarily to prove a point, but just to lay these facts across your shoulders.
I'm not here to digress, but I'm not here to impress either. You're the inspiration my heart is aching to have.
Therefore I have another bold statement, this one is directly coming out of my beating chest.
I don't think you're aware of everything I have to say, every feeling that is contained within my heart, there is no key to this heart, because my heart is whole; there is no space in between.
This thing that keeps me alive may be heavy, so lift with your knees, you're going to need to with all of these feelings contained in a size of a fist.
Don't let your back to break, so we're going to to just start with lower doses and work way up these steps, one step at a time, we'll get there eventually.
Perhaps this is a poor way to end only a sentence in this book that I'm going to let write its own pages.
