Sometimes I wish
My pencil will break
and that my heart will finally choose rest
little one, aren't you exhausted?
Of how the world give you thoughts
that makes you run and run to the void
When will this head of mine
come back down the clouds?
Till when will these eyes stay
blinded by a reality far from truth?

Sometimes I want to blame this heart
for taking in too much, too much
excessively from what it can ought to take
I want to hold a grudge, for it ever falling
to wonders that tears itself from reality
Don't strange, delicate things
draws us humans more onto it?
Why am I so eerily drawn
to such things far off this planet?
A dream that's far from my grasp.
So far off.

Won't somebody, anybody, I beg
wake me up from this dream already?

— shatter me already

to be a writer..

it’s an awfully emotional adventure.

it doesn’t mean
you’ve always got a pen in hand.
it also doesn’t mean
you’ve got too many voices in your head.

to be a writer
means to fall in love young,
and to never fall out of love.
because like a true love,
the words will never leave you
or never let you down.

to be a writer
means that you want it;
you crave the aligned phrases,
the scratch of lead on paper,
the depth of the ink soaking in.
the beauty that the words leave behind.

to be a writer
means that you need it,
that without it,
you’re not sure how you’d speak
without a voice.
it means that early in the morning,
when your cheeks are stained with tears
and your heart is trembling
within its cage
the flow of words
coming from inside
is the only thing that can save you.

to be a writer..

is an awfully wonderful adventure.

I could never tell you
exactly what's going on inside my head,
so I'll write instead.
Drown my thoughts in paper & lead.
Keep my hands alive,
and my expression dead.

Darling
never trust me
after all
my whole career
is based off
making tragedies
sound beautiful

whatever floats yer boat
paint a picture
sing a song
even write a note
just get out
and tell yer story
whatever floats yer boat

the message
is important
you could paint
it on a goat
just get out
and tell yer story
whatever floats yer boat

a writer sings
a painter paints
an author uses words
it's no good
unless the message
isn't seen or heard

keeping thoughts as secret
isn't good and here is why
because sharing brings them life
and otherwise they'll die

write a letter
do a play
or even bake a cake
the message
it is important
who cares what form it takes

say it loud
or scream it
even put it in a song
opinions
are for sharing
even if they're wrong

a writer sings
a painter paints
an author uses words
it's no good
unless the message
isn't seen or heard

keeping thoughts as secret
isn't good and here is why
because sharing brings them life
and otherwise they'll die

paint a picture
sing a song
even write a note
just get out
and tell yer story
whatever floats yer boat

I watch your razor blade float across the water
With the scissors resting on the faucet
But the only thing that cuts deep
Are the thoughts in my head that never leave
I lay dorment til the water gets cold, sometimes fall asleep because I normally don't
Some of my best works have been scribbled down on wet sheets
I used to try wash everything away
Wishing it went down the drain like water
But now all I need is a pen and a few sheets
And I'll feel cleansed again

Its painful huh? The pain you felt after you got cheated on. The pain you felt after you got lied to. But what hurt more, was the fact that you decided to go back after what he did. What hurt more was the fact that those words replayed in your mind and each time over and over again it became more painful and it didn’t change the way it made you feel. But you still went back. Because even after he warned you not to fall in love with him, you still did. Because even though he cheated on you and did the same thing to girls that he did to you, he still “Knew how to treat you”. And it sad cause at the end of the day you still went back and the same result would be expected. But you never got used to the feeling. Cause you actually felt the heartbreak. And you felt the way your heart broke into a million pieces. You only wanted to see the good in him but you didn’t. You couldn't bring out the good in him either. But everyone around you warned you about him and you only kept poisoning yourself by going back. He was the venom to your veins that even though it was killing you, you didn’t do anything to **** it out. You let it **** you by staying thinking it was love. But it had felt as if you hated yourself more than you loved yourself.

I have before criticized the English language
But the lack of dialogue I can muster
to express the depth of my thoughts...
That's my fault.

I have not settled deep enough.
Somewhere between my heart and my soul
to find a way to elaborate on what I know.
That's my fault.

I promise to dive deeper.

I have notebooks soaking
up my emotions-
Hoping,
no one see's the flood.