My Paper and Pen
I’ve been doing quite a bit of faking
acting as if my heart hasn’t been slowly breaking.
For so long, I’ve kept most of my feelings bottled within
except for what I’ve released with my paper and pen.
I’ve tried self examination to figure out what’s my ailment.
I’m like a train on the track, heading toward derailment.
Occasionally I can’t sleep for all the unspoken thoughts in my head.
I spend more time with a pen in my hand than my head on the bed.
Sometimes I feel so utterly alone,
with nothing or no one to call my very own.
At times I feel like I don’t even have one true friend,
except the books on my shelves, and my paper and pen
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