My pencil writes cleans even though my words sound mean
Yelling and screaming at the reader to show the emotion that I cannot in person
Gliding across the paper,
Caressing the paper,
That’s how it starts
Innocent,
A way to take the knife from my wrist and put the pencil to the paper,
Making it suffer,
Crying out in agony because of how sharp the lead is in my pencil
I won’t stop
I won’t stop letting out my anger and frustration just because it pains someone else
For once I will be heard even if that means destroying the heart, body and mind of someone,
Something else
I won’t stop until I’m ready to take that step,
To get clean,
To stop screaming inside my own head,
Begging my words to end their race
They won’t,
The don’t,
They shouldn’t
Why should they listen to me when I’ve let it go on for so long?
Why didn’t I stop them when I had the chance?
A shot at redemption against my own brain,
Words,
Thoughts
But now I speak slowly,
Slurring over my words because I desperately want to be heard but instead I’m curled into a ball,
Trying not to bawl
I’m weak,
I’m afraid of standing because I might fall and I cannot feel the walls
But I keep writing
Letting out my life’s misery’s on any paper I can find
It’s hard having an ill mind
Counting down the time until it’s your time and not knowing how to stop your mind,
So you do the only you were ever good at
Write,
Right?
Stick to your strengths and not your weaknesses
A walking oxymoron
Maybe just a moron
Maybe just a Ron
Maybe just a on
The ink drops on the pain until it dries
Then it drops some more


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