I write until I am numb.
For when the pain hits, I can feel it in my thumbs.
Down to the bone, down to the wire.
I'll burn my own flame, I'll light my fire.
You can only see a part of me.
My thought are flowing, drowning in the sea.
I may not be Shakepeare, Poe, or Whitman, but what I feel simply cannot be written.
For it is too deep, much like my soul, and when I release the pain, it is sure to flow.
It flows like the rivers, lakes, and streams.
But yet I can seem to only find it in my dreams.
Never question my logic,my wits, or my rhymes.
For they are only released at a certain time.
And when this time comes,it's like magic to bear, I only hope with these words, you too shall share.
Confide in me your deepest thoughts, because within them, we can share, a thing much too forgetten,for it is hidden in the glare.