I haven’t written anything
Not in awhile at least
And for a minute
I think it’s because
I’ve finally lost myself
My creative side at least.
But soon I realize
It’s simply because
I’m happy.
The things I write
Are twisted and depressing
Sometimes too dark
To even represent
My true self.
But they were decent
Some even good
And it makes me miss
Being sad.

I
Will
    Not
        Give
             Up
I
Will
   Not
      Give
            In
I
Will
     Fight
           Hard
I
   Will
      Ultimately
                      Win
I
Will
     Not
           Give
                   Up


Continuously Repeat...

I feel like writing
but what?
What is there left
to talk about?
Just about everything's
been said or done
at some point,
so what is there left to write.
And how can it be
that there are still
new combinations
for people to write.
So now what do I write?
Well,
I guess this will do.

Maybe it's the way you look at me,
Maybe it's the way you hold me,
Maybe it's the way you care for me,
Maybe it's the way you talk to me,
Maybe it's the way you understand me,
Maybe it's the way we joke around,
Maybe it's the way we love,
Maybe all it is
Is you.

How can emptiness be so heavy?