America My writing is from the heart. I spend little time planning my poems. A thought pops into my head and I give it freedom.
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Do you ever feel alone? Not just alone, but ...alone.
Everything is kind of empty, and you can't quite feel whole. Sure, there are people around, but you don't really feel there, or maybe it's they who aren't there.
My writing used to mean something. I promise. But now I try to write and then the keyboard is wet and my eyes are burning and the words don't come out right I swear it used to mean something but I don't know how to be eloquent and I've forgotten how to articulate and why *why can't I find the same meaning?
I can only breathe the air after it has rained, when it tastes like lightning and thunder and sky. It's the only time my lungs feel clean and your breath isn't there and the burning stops.
You left a storm in my mind and an icy wind in my heart.
Let me hear a lie, to ease the bitter taste the truth has left behind. Lies taste so sweet, sickly and sticky and sweet. Tell me everything will be okay. Tell me it gets better. Let me hear a lie.
I can no longer tell if I'm an optimist or a cynic
Two hours of sleep Nightmare. A piece of cheese and a ******* for lunch Close the curtains I hate the sunlight three blankets sweaty but safe go home stay home leave me alone Did you eat? enough You're worrying me. Empty words, cold replies go back to sleep