I can't bring myself to write anymore
At first it was every other moment that struck verses after another
Now I force myself to pickup the pen—
Only to fumble with the same words I have written over
Only to scribble the white space until there's left none
Only to weep with all that inked ripped page
Only to fail to ever start again
Only to be robbed of my tears and pain
Only to be in pure naked vain
I can't bring myself to write anymore
Unless I'm breaking my bones
Unless I'm coughing on blood
Unless I'm sobbing for years
Unless I'm raw and filthy and bare
Unless I'm drowning in fears
I can't bring myself to write anymore
Because I'm out of things to share
Because these pages know me more than I know myself
Because I'm tired of wanting help
Because my throat is too sore to yell
Because it's always better to never tell
I can't bring myself to write anymore
Not without my eyes welled up
Not without my core cracked
Not without passion burnt to death
Not without wasted hours
Not without being scared
Not without hollowing myself
YOU ARE READING
Unsaid words
Poetry"Is happiness really a myth". A collection of the most cherished pieces of my soul: my poems. The things I wrote when I loved, when I hated, when I raged, when I dared and when from reality, I escaped. My poems are a way for me to get away from the...
