It's been a month
and my journal still lays in the same spot
in the corner of my ***** room
on my old oak desk.
I meant to write
but I could never muster up
enough energy to say
everything that was locked up inside my head.
I couldn't find the words
to express my needs and wants,
to list my problems
and the demons constantly reminding me of them.
And so, my journal
still lays there in that same old spot,
collecting dust every other second
and never feeling my pen's touch
and still craving for my attention.


- i.s.
[ day one of fourteen days & fourteen nights ]