There are words stuck in the back of my throath
that I wouldn't dare speaking. Sentences formless,
water kept below boiling point. My tongue a
sharpened claymore. It's reach long,
it's swing heavy. Yes, I am a dangerous man.
Wielder of the most powerfull weapons.
My pen writes, shifting balance of words
influencing reality, developing perspective
of readers who don't tread carefully.
This is my space, in here I rule supreme
in here I create what no one could re-create.
Look through my mask and ask yourself
if it's not another mask. A man with layers
I go deep, with thoughts and feelings
I am weak, so I acknowledge what I see
What I see is you, despite you wanting to.
What you feel is what you do.
What you do is what you show
So what you show is what you feel
and what  you feel is the warmth of me
acknowledging you.
The illusion of distance, it is me
being next to all of you!