Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I wrote a poem when I died...
Another at my birth.
A brand-new sonnet when I cried.
And again when there was mirth.

A song for my confession...
A story for my pain...
A painting for depression...
And nursery rhymes for rain.

My creations live inside my heart.
I keep them there in shame.
Yet you looked around and saw my art,
And smiled all the same.
have you ever felt completely lost in your own story.

almost as if you are standing in the middle of a dark patch of woods,
not know which way to go or how you even got there.

like you know what you are supposed to do but you have no idea how to do it.

feel out of place when you are the one who placed yourself there, and just thought, who have i become.

who's shoes have i walked in to get here. lost here.

seeing through your eyes yet it's like you've been blindfolded and someone else has been guiding you along this whole time.

you hear people the same as always but you start to question who they are and most importantly who they are to you because behind the familiar face is someone who you feel expects you to decide and make decisions on choices you've never seen or even felt before.

lost in these woods you just stare at different trees and look up to the not even full glowing moon and just stare. not knowing what happened, what is happening or what is going to happen.

lost
nothing to say
Next page