It's all or nothing, at least for me, anti-social and frustrating. I can not speak so I write, yet this has only happened recently. Having the luxury of not losing a loved one, that was until he hung himself. My inside crying, the outside shameful, there was no more talking because everything I had to say I have already written. 

The poetry is all for me now, I write for you although, you may have seen this with GOD before. The poetry is all for me now, the way my pen glides as my hand  blisters in heat. I only write for me now beacuse you can not.