A Voice and a Pen

Used say I talked too little, Had no voice to be heard. Maybe now I talk too much, Guess I can never get it right. Through all my biggest struggles, Whether I talk too little, Or if I talk too much, My pen and pad never change. Words form in the centrifuge of my mind. Bleeding out my eyes in a dark stream. It runs down my face, past my broken heart. Flowing through like a waterfall. It trickles to my fingertips. Into the pen that writes my pain, Drowning the paper in my fear. A catalyst for my worst thoughts.