I write because,

      the pen is the only thing that understand me.

      And the paper; the only thing that listens.

I write because of hard times,

      because of bad times.

      And because of times that never seem to end.

I write when I cannot speak,

      when I cannot feel.

And I write so nothing feels this real.

I write my mind, as it draws me to.

      And I write as my thoughts continue to pass by.

Even when they are entrapped into a mindless trance,

      all inside my head,

I still write.