Give me a paper and a pen.
Let me write about the pain and love that my life sustains. Ever so much sin.
The words pour through me like steam on the engine of a locomotive train.
I think without this outlet to reflect my mind and heart, I would have gone madly insane. I would be a bird without any desire to soar above all the anger and the blame. A body of water with no flow back into the arms of the sea that embraces her so openly.
I expose myself to you to so that I can work through my own insanity and realize that I am not alone in the bubbles of passionate emotions. Pop. So often the bubbles burst around me and tiny pieces of soap fall into my cracks of my eyes and blind me. When I rub my eyes and slowly start to see again, I begin to heal my visions by writing again. I work my devout mind through all the damned disappointment of others restrains and admire the feeling of being one day whole again.
It seems to matter how I try to express my life in words, nothing will ever compare to the sentiments that fall behind there meaning. I ask you to see that through my words and there often elusive nature, I try and reveal the beauty that is within me.
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