My Journal is a hard cover binder
It always lays on my coffee table liner
It's from Costa Rican
It's not allowed to even peek in
It's made from natural fibre paper
also sits a Candle from the yankie candle maker
Only my hands hold this book
and the pen writes the note's
for me to take a look
My writings are deep and full of scares
With hate, love and passion they are
Screts that follow my senses
On each page there's written words
words that were never spoken
Like a ship that sales at night
on the ocean far away
sits a boat lite house
I'm alone in my pages
Started young and into my ages
sighs and tears were dropping here
Like rain drops in the ocean with a boat
sinking be yon the pier