If there is one thing I can say,
It's that, over the years, I have learned.

Mainly, I know
That what I think

And what I write
Aren't always the same.

My hands have a mind of their own,
My fingertips play with the keys.

So many keys,
Which have so many letters on them.

My mind screams for happiness,
A lie I have always told,

Jumbling in a huge mess,
While my hands play on.

Maybe I have a plan,
But it doesn't seem it to me.

While my mind begs for happiness,
My hands record my darkness.