posted on Jun, 4 2008 @ 04:08 PM
Trying everyting and still nothing seems to work, moonlight leading me
through the dark hours of creation, a time when thoughts come to me at blinding speeds, but indeed, not this night. Too uptight. Can't write. What
a sight . .I must be . .haven't slept, and it's day . . three.
On the desk my words lay scattered, unused, . . . it doesn't matter. Into
them I've put my sweat, for you to read but yet . .I wonder, if that's
enough. They're meant to give you visions, such that I see, but do they
really help you, to be me ? Being me is not what I want for you, I think
it'd only make you blue. Feelings, my feelings, through my words and into
you, used as if another tool. But does it work ?
Okay okay, so it takes more. I try so hard my head gets sore. And still I
try to write my fears, but onto ink doth fall my tears. So now you have
my tears, my sweat. Is there anything else . .left ? Wait, I know now what
you need, a nick of the wrist here . . to make me bleed. Right ?
There you have it; blood ,sweat, and tears. Are you happy, now my dear ?