I dare not dull my mind
with wine, unless it's
truly sweet. As much I want
to rest, I hear my pen's pleas,
as its golden blood bleeds; for
to always stay vertical! Only
on my deathbed, should it
be laid to rest horizontally.

So many notes
I've written over time
and perfect
perfect
perfect
my craft
till' there's nothing left

A painted mirror
With the image of love
Only intended to show her exterior
No matter the size of the shove

They pick spitefully
Tossing flecks of dried work
But she responds oh so delightfully
Forgetting her crafted worth

Born to show others an image they'd like to perceive
Dead to have not even the maker grieve

Never get so lost in competing
that you lose interest in giving
your creations meaning.

I am one who tends to think much, say less
which pushes me to
write more

I chose the pen, and it chose me
Seeing me through many hard
times

I only wish to show that I am worthy
of the title of 'writer'

I may not be able to change my past
but I have the power to build my
future

I want to
Have to
believe that I am
worthy

The time held crumbles
through my hands, and that remains
The sun in the sands

Each word we paint
on the canvas of life
are tears, our ink
for our golden quills

A wanted desire
A girl with a fire.
A passion in a kiss
A compassion I admire.
A kiss that lingers with the taste of
A genuine draft.
I write not to send but still for you.
I write because this is my craft.
A love, a kiss, a loyalty matched
I love, I kiss only you
Aslong as my breath will last