Tue, 06/04/2013 - 15:04 -- SashaA

I write to get away
From the stress of my life everyday
When the anxiety gets to be too much
Pen and paper become my crutch

I can't convey my feelings
With spoken words
Or fix myself with supernatural healing
I can't fly away like a bird

My thoughts are like the sky
Sometimes cloudy and sometimes dark
Soemtimes miserable and sometimes crying
Sometimes sunny and sometimes clear

The list goes on
But I digress
When the day has gone
All I have is this piece of paper and pen I guess

This thing we all live, called life
Isn't as bad as we make it
If we all took the time to lay down the knife
And not cut and slit
The wrists that hold our lifeblood

Then we could see
That all this is about creating
And living to be free
So stop waiting
For something better to come along
This is it, everything else is long


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