I'd lose my mind if it wasn't for the art, for the words I'd leave unspoken if it wasn't for the poetry It is a place of refuge, between these pages Where my hands once laid barren As I toyed with words of lesser meaning That pined for someone I am not in love with now. My mind has always been a loud place And it often speaks in stanzas, Mostly about you and the sky And it beckons me to write the thoughts he never appreciated anyhow.
I want to write like Sylvia, like Elizabeth, like Kafka And I fear that I am too similar to them Searching for answers beneath the sun and coming home to no one It is the only thing that disturbs my peace.
I do not know why I find loneliness in the only thing that brings me comfort.
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