I am alone here,
in the insanity that is my mind,
in the storm of thought that beat blindness into my eyes,
for you never really know, what there is to see,

All the sudden,
my voice runs dry,
like a lone wolf in the night, who has forgotten how to cry,
and there is no one here to dry these tears,
but myself,
and I have forgotten how my hands work,
yet I sit here and write,
curious in the making I do say,

How do we know what to believe,
for it seems honesty isn't the lastest fashion,
people would rather persuade you with useless distractions,
cycling you to believe what you hear,
never seeing whats really there..

I do say,
I am alone here,
with only this pen,
some paper,
and newborn tears.