i want this to be smooth and to flow
but instead my motions are jerky and jaged
the pen slices through the paper
feels like a knife through my heart
but i cant ceasce untill its all out in the open
what ever these emotions that drive me
like my blood running from an open wound
the ink just wont ceasce to bleed onto the paper
ceaping through to stain the table
leaving a testament of the silent war that raged
to leave a slight indent in the volumes of history
but im sure it'll be easily over looked
so furiestly i sit here writing and thinking
and deeper and deeper these wounds to paper run
quicker and quicker my bleeding heart pumps
nothing to stop this insanity that i call passion
im obsessed with being remebered for something great
regardless if i became famous or infamous
the need for it is greater then the love for sweet pure air in lungs
i wont ceasce untill this slight indent is a great scar or imprint
till these anuuals of history scream there acknowledgement of me
No comments:
Post a Comment