Sometimes I ignore writing for days,
and then just when I'm about to explode
....
I pick up my journal and write like my life depends on it
....
By the end I'm empty yet filled with a new purpose.
The words bury me until the only thing free is a hand and then I'm possessed by the need to feel and a pen becomes my only friend and savior.
And at the end...
I am set free, allowed to fly another day until I've consumed a new fill and am tipping once again off a ledge only seen by me.
YOU ARE READING
Barely breathing
PoetryJust words that can't pass my lips but will go through my head until they fall onto paper. Every single one of these are my original pieces.
