Life In The Eyes Of Lea

I know a book can't judge you about how messed up your life is by the ink you spread across its pages, but something about writing my feelings down only for someone to read them is a recurring nightmare. The stuff I write in this leather, hardcover book stays in here... unless that's what I thought at first. Day by day each corrupt story and message fills these blank pages. One by one they escape. Second by second I regret acquiring this meaningless notebook. All of this is supposed to help release my emotions, but to be honest it's just another reason to keep them in.