You can take away my pen and paper, I'll write on walls with my ink,
You can kill the shimmer of my stars and I'll borrow a thousand constellations from every poem I have written.
You may leave me seasonless, I'll pluck every rose I have for a different season.
You may choke me, my thoughts will breathe through my fingers and my heart will not stop pulsating.
I don't need your nights nor your seasons. I don't want to write with your ink nor breathe your thoughts.
You can never restrain me, I'm a thousand thoughts roaming.

I'm free.


Written while I was sober.
Don't ask

You are a compass to every terrible thing I have done in all the directions of my mind.

"Silence should rhyme with Secrets"
--


Words wade through silence,
-like a monsoon-
leaving wrecks of inviable memories,
Thoughts,
Sentiments.

Breathing is suddenly a language,
unknown to wordlessness-
so loud it speaks out cowardice
Uncertainty
Fear..

Secrets, buried within
quicken the heartbeats
in an attempt to break free
devastate
overthrow

But the look on the faces scream for nothing
Maybe a telltale? (A fool's reasoning)
only a thought could never perish; Doubt,
Mistrust,
Deceit.

Written December 10, 10. 2:37 am.


*Yes, those are my own feelings.



























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