(no subject)
When all else fails, and there's nothing more to do,
I put my pen to the blank paper and write.
I try to release my burdens, feelings of misery, anger, and content,
But there's so many, it's as if they just came and went.
Just long enough to feel, and slightly caress my soul,
Not even long enough to analyze, or even thinking of gaining control.
They leave me with flickers of a slight taste of what was,
So I sit and reminisce, try to recall,
The images, the feelings, and what I thought I saw.
But if you've lived the days I've lived, and seen the images I've seen,
You'd wonder why I'm still alive, and nothing short of a human being.
I've seen and felt things, that you could only dream,
So I only speak of a pleasant times, to make myself seem clean.
So I lock myself away, only to conceal the fright.
When all else fails and there's nothing more to do,
I put my pen to the blank paper and write.