The rustle of sheets
the pacing of feet
and the lights outside flicker
in the dark street
that is covered in sleet
the house is losing heat
shiver under blankets
to gain warmth is a feat
when the big hand meets
the little hand, there are seats
that are inanimate and cold
anxiety ain't sweet
anxiety ain't sweet
anxiety ain't sweet

like a story that finished with lose ends

cuts like a knife with a wound to mend

one thousand nights with tears falling

with only one name that he is calling



in the middle of the dark all on his own

the memories flashes back in a mellow tone

with every beat that synch with his pain

a bitter sweet symphony inside remains



with all his might he lets it go

like a water fall he lets it flow

there's no easy way out from this predicament

nothing else will work.. not even a replacement



as time passed by he realized all this

all is worth it even if sometimes you miss

for the pain he feels will soon subside

and look for that happiness he once found inside



so he closed his eyes and said these words

"nothing else is more important in this world

but to keep pushing forward and to be free.

once I lived for you...  now I live for me"

sometimes,
i write long posts that i erase,
not because i'm embarrassed,
or they were bad,
or the thought that seemed clear became jumbled and lost,
but because i needed to write it,
to see the words on a page defining the author at the keyboard,
speaking plainly, simply,
there i am on the screen in front of me.
i used to think it meant i was a terrible writer,
that i lacked talent,
intelligence,
the ability to convey my thoughts and passions.
but it's simply this:
to know who i am is the greatest gift in the world,
and the world doesn't have to know it.
sometimes, i write just so i get to read it.