I write, I express emotion
I use words no one will read, hear or utter
I create worlds within this head of mine
And try to convey them to the people
So that they too can feel the grass that I dream of
I greave
To the point that it wells up inside me
And there’s no way to keep it in any longer
Instead of leaking salty crystals
Because I have to much pride
My pen takes me to a place of ongoing ink
Where rivers run black
And skies are grey
Where the sun rises and gives hope to weary
And the stars guide me through the night
This genius of mine is a writer
Able to bring light to these dead eyes
And rebirth forgotten feelings
But fear is a creature of hideous evil
And beautiful comfort
I fear that is this genius is rejected
If this part of me dies there is no hope
No light for me to follow back to my world of grass and grey skies
That forever I will be lost to the wicked ways of this world.
And the only escape is death.