my carpets full of stains.....and my curtains run thin....
i've got a story to tell but i just dont give it in...
im a lover a fighter..but first and most a writer....
im to deep to reach at times....
and the words flow through my pen...
cant say how i feel out my mouth it comes better planed....
to late it seams but i can only write the way i see....its like im blind
till i burst some free verse....im holding my breathe till i sketch out my
mind.....can fall in love with me on paper but never will you hear the real
me to follow...
im sneaky and still....but at my own will
give me ink and paper and the power spills ........i close my mind all day
and live like the dead.....only in love when i can read what really is goin
on in my head.....
the ink pumps my blood....fills my veins....
im a lover and a fighter but i live for and through being a secret
writer.....
 
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