If I Drop This Pen I Will Stop Drowning and Crawl Onto Land


These words dont do anything anymore
I don't enjoy the pen and paper, it just seems like a chore
How can i drift off into these words when youre crying on the floor?
I should drop this book where I stand, let it rot into the wood like a festering sore

And I still remember the first time I ever wrote
If there was a god, he lives in the ink and the paper
I still remember when the teacher took my notebook away and I still haven't forgave her

Its funny how I thought it was a calling
It was my greatest passion, yeah it was fire on my skin
It was melting all the ice that I hid within
It stripped me of all the frustration and all that built up hatred

Now its just scribbles in a stupid yellowed notebook
And I think I'll move it to the trash can
Cause the way its driving me insane is getting out of hand
If I drop this pen will I stop drowning and crawl onto land
Or were the words that i wrote the sand beneath my hands

And no matter what I do now, I'm losing my breath
Because those words they scared me half to death
But they gave me life in the end, they were the world in my head
They were the color that was in my eyes
They were in between the lines
And I swear if you look hard enough you'll find truth in those lies
But I guess the story has to end sometime
And I guess this is good bye


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