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.