I wanted to write the truth that came from my heart but in the end I wrote the problems that been eating me from the start. Can you image the pen writing solely for this purpose just to be knocked down by my own thoughtless words? Those unwritten words, those shreds from my heart, the pointless promises, and the overbearing confident, how did I manage to corrupt them all?
Hiding from my own pain while I hurt other, is this not the demon I create?
No more a hypocrite then you is lost filled. Stampede, riot, tear down, these are how I describe my own action. My own words burned me, my own words destroyed me, my own words bound me, and my own words create a world filled with my own lies. Funny isn't it? Destroyed by the very thing I created. Be I Frankenstein and my word Frankenstein such a reference defies me to the point of fear. Forgive and forget, walk into the sun and burn, become my bride and let’s walk toward a moon rising wonder. I struggle to find out who I am and who we are but won’t this lead me to my grave? Is it a mission I wish to take and for who sake? Dreaming for an innocent heart but done so imperfectly it too late. Let my unwritten words love me and lose me, damaging me with blue fires, be forgotten from my memories and sleepless night trying to recover. Such a helpless thing as I watch a demon take me away and bring me back from time to time again. Bloody mask full of lies, full of fear, and tears. Where does the words fly to once I forget them, I wrote my own truth and the heart filled problems that had eaten me. What a way to use my broken pen .