I feel And I feel And I feel a lot So I run wild Trying To make everyone Feel What I do So that no emotion That has touched My lips And made me smile Gets wasted And lost in time.
I feel And I feel And I feel a little less So I write And cover emotions In books With flowers Dried up, yet fragrant And my tears, Book mark, Every page That makes me Feel That way I do.
I feel And I feel And I feel like a mess When my skin Doesn't love me back And my body Doesn't let me stand Because someone Called me flawed So I hide Behind sheets And emotions That I am too imperfect To feel.
I feel And I feel And I feel lost When I curl up In a ball Of the emotions I could have felt So I dig up graves In my backyard For each one of them Until I feel And I feel And I feel nothing at all.
There comes a time When a poet must Let go, it is a Cold and crushing despair That tells him that The last love story Was told a thousand Years ago, and Unknowingly all he has Done is carry on the Legacy of those that Came before him But today is the day That he finally decides To bury the gift Of his ancestors.
It is a universal truth That the readers maketh A writer, but you must Know that every word I Pen is a fragment of My soul that I willingly Forsake, they are children Of a God that rarely Answers my prayers If I must kill characters That you have grown to Love, it is because they Must die, it is a decision I make without remorse But always with conscience.
Cerulean is my salvation It is a word I seek out Over and over again But all it has done Is led me down a Path bereft of redemption My eyes can still see In diagonal lines but They are clouded by A film of tunnel vision It must go, and it must go Tonight, because tonight I have faith that a new Path exists, but tomorrow I might find myself hurtling Towards a one way Ticket to perdition.