A writer isn't a writer without something to write about
I've got nothing to write about
I've been breaking my bones trying to figure it out
A word, a phrase
It all feels delayed
My fingers used to write
Something beautiful to type
They used to just move
And that is just what they should do
What is wrong with me?
Why is this so hard?
I'm running,
and running
Getting no where far
I'm running,
and running
Getting no where
I'm writing
and I'm writing
Still no where
How can this be so hard?

Like your head pounds
for nicotine
My head screams
to write feelings
While your fingers shake
for what you need
My fingers trace letters
on the back of my knee

You have an illness and would you look at that, so do I
We find hobbies with our hands and tell ourselves we're getting by

While you are out
and you are drinking
I am home
and I am thinking
I'm alone
And I am sinking
Discovering things that were better off mysteries
Slowly discovering what is killing me
                                Before it kills me
But I need it like it's been getting me high
It's my little hobby,
and it's getting me by

You have an illness and would you look at that, so do I
We find hobbies with our hands and tell ourselves we're getting by
I find a hobby for my head, and somehow I'm *getting by

Some things capture you,
others set you free

I keep a little notepad in my car to ensure writers safety
Because words spontaneously throw themselves around in my mind
Without a conscious thought to
But I still lose a few lines every now and then
And I can't help but wonder
Where do the lost words go?
The beautiful lines we'd love to recollect
Our own thoughts
Ones that will never be told to anyone
Or read anywhere
I wonder if they come back without us knowing
I wonder if they make up the lines that don't exactly fit anywhere else
The ones that we want to backspace
And erase
Backspace
And erase
Until they're gone again
I wonder if some things
Are not supposed to exist
Until they do
If some things just do not fit

So I write in pen
And I undo all the backspacing, too
Because I also wonder
If maybe everything has a place
And we just have to make them fit

I think way too much
and I know I should stop
cause it's bad for me
But something tells me not to
and somehow
it's like it regenerates me
like I don't need a battery
I just need some of my brains energy
And I could stay up for eternity
And I'm telling you
              
                   **it's hurting me

All I can write about lately is writing or thinking and it's kind of ironic because they go hand in hand... so I've been feeling like I've been holding onto the same set of hands for too long in fear that they're the only hands that have ever opened up in my direction. At least recently. Or maybe they're the softest, or the most comforting. Maybe they're the hands of the man that I love. Either way, I don't think I ever want to let go of these hands, and I think that's okay. I think it's okay to find a home and coin it your own. Why wouldn't it be?

On your best friend's birthday we made love in a tent
Not knowing how much more time we'd spend doing it again
And again
And again
I'd still do it again
And again
And again
That night I drank too much and convinced myself I meant nothing to you
I wish I would've stayed convinced
But then you told me you'd love me
And you did
I wish you'd love me again

I don't see that smile
The one I've tried hard to forget
I don't see those eyes
The pools of hazel I had vivid dreams about
And this is how I know
The only thing that looks familiar anymore
Are those lips
Bright pink but cracked like old cement
Just the way I remember them
I kissed them over and over
And still they never got better
But I still kissed them
And only for your skins sake,
Did I ever wish they got better
I see your lips now
They're exactly as I remember them
And I wonder who is thinking about them,
Desiring to heal them the way that I did,
But for their own sake
I wonder if anyone
Will ever again think to kiss your lips
With intentions of healing you

Opened the blind and saw right away
The sun had too much energy for me today
So I closed the blind again
And I haven't asked if she's mad
Because I know she is
I can still see her enthusiasm through the blind
Some days I wish the sun's energy was mine
Some days I have no energy for creating wishes or dreams
Or even doing simple things of value to me
I spend my days angry at myself for being so depressed
I cannot shine with the weight of my own words upon my chest
I am not the sun, and I'm nowhere near as bright as she
So why when she shines, does she always shine on me?
And why does her energy sometimes scare me?
It's like she's making a mockery of me
And when I turn my back
I can still see her mocking me
I know why I close the blinds when she's too bright
I'm not a vampire, but I do enjoy myself at night
It's as if the darkness of the night imposes no stress on me
I look outside and I'm overwhelmed with a calming feeling
As if I've got no plans and no where to go
I let my mind settle down, and my fingers take control
And when the sun
When she shines bright on me
There are no silhouettes of anyone to hide me
I am in the lime light
Of the sun's energy
She shines on me with hope
Of all I know I could be
And sometimes the changes
Are just a little unsettling  





-- Have no idea where I was going with this, but I'm okay with where it went and decided to stop writing this and open the blind again. May add more later
*-- Took someones advice and added more. Completely satisfied.