| My Writing |
| This is exactly what it says; it's some of the things I have written. The latest one, Untitled, is my best piece ever (I think anyways). Enjoy |
| Untitled |
| There's only one thing left to say, I hadn't the courage to do so until now. Last night you saw me deep in thought, So deep I could not explain me. My head screamed out feelings, My tounge choked on words. Confusion blanketed the air, It's stench debilitating. Tonight you trained my mind, To think for itself. A long road it will be. In time, recovery will approach the bend, Reveling itself to me, but not to you. You knew all along. You saw inside me from the start. Were you sent to show me life? Or sent to show me, me? Though I opened my eyes, I'm still blinded by expression. Now I feel the colors of my tounge Blooming with every passing second. Some things still unsaid But one day my lips will flow. Like the water that passes through them, Cooly and smoothly Articulation will find an ear. It's sweet sound showing life, Where it once was not found. |
| Illusions Shattered |
| Everything we've been taught has all been a lie, all been destroyed. But perhaps it is good to have our illusions about the past shattered. We pick up the pieces and start once again. One by one we glue the shards back together. Though we seem to construct the same person, life is different. Some things added, some pieces no longer present. All changes for the good. Some may say once something is gone and brought back, it is weaker than before. But this new bond will keep us strong, so we can do anything. Anything the past would not allow us to do. Yes, the past will still be there. But the present truth will be there too. |
| Memories |
| The days are winding down with every passing second. Concentration running dry like a draught riverbed. Memories with old friends will not be formed again but will not be forgotten either. New places and memories lie awake waiting for morning to come. The morning when change appears. New faces meet and new memories form. The unfamiliar hand may slap some harshly while others will feel its comforting grasp. As eyes and minds alike look back, they see the days whether they know it or not. Some standing out like it was mere minutes before, others unrecognizable to the concious mind. But they are there. All of them. Whether wanted or not; whether liked or not; whether important or not. Every day, every hour, every minute. Every second is stored in the vast depths of the mind. They are there, and will always be there. |