Untitled #7

To write, or not to write 

My passion is a flighty whim, 

To speak, or not to speak 

My words sometimes forsake me, 

To feel, or not to feel 

My soul is at capacity, 

I have put pen to paper 

Until the ink runs dry, 

Then on to my weapon of choice 

And then the lead breaks, 

So i scream loud unto an empty room 

"Why do i have to be the strong one", 

I can weep before the blind, 

I can scream before the deaf, 

And I can hide within my shadow... 

I can curse the darkness, 

And i can damn the light, 

for neither give me freedom... 

I have been the pages in a book, 

Turned only to meet the end... 

I have crawled into a picture frame, 

To be admired then left to hang... 

Forced not to speak with a swiftfull gesture 

Of a hand pressed to my lips... 

Silenced for less than a spoken word, 

It can be easily read in my eyes... 

And I can loose my way and my release 

If when pressed to hard the lead breaks...