I don’t know why I write this down,
it doesn’t make me feel any better.
No feeling of escape finds me,
I find no comfort in my letters.

I write to try to calm myself,
at night, I lie awake and dream.
Dreams of conversations
that will never happen, it seems.
If I could sleep soundly,
just for one single night,
I might wake feeling different,
the sun may just seem bright, for a change.

With every stroke of a pen
my thoughts pour out like a storm,
violent and relentless,
nothing but release can keep me warm.
I can never take that step
no matter how much thought I give it.
I think it’s time to take a chance,
I’ll tell you when that sinking feeling hits.