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An empty canvas Is as pure as snow, And as white as the clouds As time struggles on The canvas is yellowed and aged, It is torn and mangled, The canvas is distraught,
To get away from the drama that just may consume me I write my hearts true desires the thickness of the pain layers upon layers have taken a painstaking toll on me writing takes the weight off my shoulders
The emptiness consumes you, filling your soul with darkness, you can't run fast enough, you can't hide well enough, Because it is inside you, forever.
Why I write: I write to unleash desire Like many forbidden dreams, I write at night I write to control the beast who wishes to devour
I started writing to express the hurt that was wrapped, twisted, and concocted inside of me. It seemed to be the only way that I could fully open up and express where I actually wanted to be.