When I was A Kid, I never would have imagined that my life would become this empty. Yet you look at me, with a passion I cannot understand.
You asked me what I want I want to do for living and I simply replied join the army. You said no, what do you really want to do? What makes you happy?
So replied, I want to write. Write away every imperfection I see on my body. Write away the bad thoughts that threaten to swallow my soul.
I want my words to graze my readers skin and make them have an itch for my writing. I want to be a drug of words on a page that leave impact on the mind.
I want to build a kingdom of words that cannot be taken down, even unknown I seek to fulfill hearts and minds that have been battered.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Withered Writing
PoetryI write because my soul lies beneath the ink. And with every slip of my pen, sparks return to exhale passion and reason into my writing. (This book has become my therapy, and it will either lead me to get better. Or lead me to death.)
