I fill the pages with the words I am not able to speak.
I leave rooms empty with the words I hide.
I walk a thousand miles, seated in my bed, with a book in my hands.
You'd call me boring, but if you could only know what my mind knows, see what my eyes see and feel what my heart feels.
You made me this way.
YOU ARE READING
It's a journal
Poëzie''Instead of blades, I use pens, but it is still my blood covering the pages.'' Comment or like if I have helped or inspired you. Also if you are having trouble or you are feeling down, Feel free to talk to me. I might not be able to take the pain...
