writing is the expression of words already molded on my heart
melted wax poured into the winding twists and turns of terms
falling free, dripping, overflowing from my mind
onto the paper, sealed with my hand.
writing is the expression of words already molded on my heart
melted wax poured into the winding twists and turns of terms
falling free, dripping, overflowing from my mind
onto the paper, sealed with my hand.
young hearts so broken
broken hearts so young
‘Happenstance’ happens and people happen to happen upon one another
Of all the things that have happened in my life, none have seemed so utterly surprising as you.
Pens on paper are just darts we shoot in the dark of our mind, trying to find ourselves.
what can a tired mind say
to a tender heart,
that would not make it ache?
I’ve seen some pretty young people
go through some pretty adult shit
my heart feels for them,
they think that this is it….
serenade me with your songs of sadness
sing to me with your wonderful words
show me how you see the world
tell me how you really feel
lying in this bed
sun streaking on my face
I pretend what it would be like to be dead
what if I didn’t have to brace
for the scary, scary day
damp eyelashes
weighed down by my worries
drowning lungs
weighed down by my emotions
sodden and sinking