And I know that what we feel
We become

And what I write
Is often better off undone

But I can tell myself stories
Of how to feel and be
And my blood will carry them
And my heart won't stay on my sleeve
It moves as it beats

And the words won't stay on the page
If they don't have a heart to stay
Or the honesty that comes with rage

Maybe my pen will run dry
Or my brain will cease to try

And show me a million twinkle lights
That dance a most beautiful lie
Right behind my eyes

And I will lose my will to speak
If I can't write what I think
Well I'll still have stories that need
To breathe so I'll do the next best thing
I'll convince my fingers to bleed
And use my stories for ink