Writing is one of the most neglected but effective vendors for expressing what one feels, believes, or thinks. For me, writing both poetry and fiction is something I thoroughly enjoy. |
Thinking of you with someone else
My heart shatters on the floor...
Tears streak down a dirt-covered face
And I stare at the enticing surface of the knife...
This place I'm at, an ultimate low
Why did you leave, why did you go...
There's raindrops on the window
That's rolled half-way down...
Like rubies and diamonds
That sparkle and gleam...
Laying in the grass looking at clouds up high
A warm, bright sun swims in a clear blue sky...
A dying angel on the ground
She cries out without making a sound...
Just recently these wings unfurled
Everything was changing, the world around me...
If someone would just take the chance
To look past what she puts on display...
If it ever happened
That you didn't love me anymore...
Quite often, the ability to create art through the mind is a curse rather than a gift; there is nothing so terrifying and beautiful as an over-colorful imagination. |
I'm tired of pretending to be who I'm not. I'm tired of hiding things in my past that I DON'T regret. I'm tired of smiling. This isn't my life. This isn't me. I vanished long ago, and I doubt I will ever return. |
You can spend your life trying to get people interested in you and not make a single friend, or you could be interested in others and make all the friends in the world. On this note, who is the richer man? He who has the money or he who has a friend? |