People always ask me where I get my words,
my poems from.
I tell them it takes a lot of focus and that a single page could take days to write.
It is one of my many lies.
I have pages, books, a bookshelf full in fact. Each page, each book, filled with scrawls.
I write what I feel.
Nothing but what I feel.
I let my anger, my sorrow, my hate all flow from my head through my heart, to my hand and onto the pages.
I used to try so hard.
I'd always wanted to be an author but I tried so hard that every word,
would dig the story's grave.
Pages I wrote of happy girls and magical love.
I tried too hard.
Each one would end up torn from my book.
Then I gave up.
It is impossible to write a story of happiness when you yourself are in the cold,
web of depression.
My lyrics are all I have now,
my "music" is my only comfort.
Please check out my poems and please comment
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