My heart and a far away land intertwined
in the darkness of this night
Under my blanket I can see it
a ghost of my dreams and my enemies
a land made of golden sand
where I stand
and fall on these broken dreams
I Feel it like walking on broken glass

It isn't a pretty place neither is it sad
it's just a place where I'm always at

on most days
i feel like i don't fit in
in a daze
in-side the lonesome house
power to get out
out-side i don't fit in

anxiety is another form of fear
that keeps me frozen

I stare at the blank page in front of me.
Thoughts flee my mind,
The moment I need them.

I stare at the blank page.
Willing it to give me some idea,
Some clue as to why I am writing.

I stare at the blank page.
I stare at it, blank, lifeless and
Incomplete without ink running down its page.

I stare at the empty, white page.
It's powerless without, me, it's writer.
Utterly and completely

I stare at the blank page.
My power flows through my pen
And onto the paper.

I have completed
A masterpiece.