When the night is cold; it's cold and numb,
Snowflakes they touch; they touch your skin,
You run to yourself; from yourself you run,
That's how solitude feels; solitude never felt like this.
Somehow I had to die; die to be reborn,
To find a map; a map of where I went,
Where the stars they shine; they shine brighter it seems,
Did this one thing; one thing it did for me.
To communicate the intensity; intensity of my inner world,
And be besides something; something I created,
This is why I write poetry; This is why I write poetry.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
When the night is cold; it's cold and numb,
Snowflakes they touch; they touch your skin,
You run to yourself; from yourself you run,
That's how solitude feels; solitude never felt like this.
Somehow I had to die; die to be reborn,
To find a map; a map of where I went,
Where the stars they shine; they shine brighter it seems,
Did this one thing; one thing it did for me.
To communicate the intensity; intensity of my inner world,
And be besides something; something I created,
This is why I write poetry; This is why I write poetry.
