Words

My escape, my addiction, my drug.
I fiend for the pen and paper.
Without it, I’m speechless
No one hears my voice…

I fiend for the pen and paper.
My ink is blood, words are my veins
No one hears my voice…
I speak without sound.

My ink is blood, words are my veins
The movements of my hand construct my timeline
I speak without sound.
A torn page scars me…

The movements of my hand construct my timeline
Strain in my wrist is struggle,
A torn page scars me…
Like skin ripped from flesh, sentences are incomplete

Strain in my wrist is struggle,
Writer’s block is but an absence of motivation
Like skin ripped from flesh, sentences are incomplete
The ink leaks.

Writer’s block is but an absence of motivation
Elapsed time drains the life of my pen
The ink leaks.
Paper becomes absorbed, covers words with red smears

Elapsed time drains the life of my pen
I’m numb to my surroundings,
Paper becomes absorbed, covers words with red smears
I’m stuck in a never-ending infatuation…

I’m numb to my surroundings,
Engulfed in my only true love.
I’m stuck in a never-ending infatuation…
My escape, my addiction, my drug.

Written by A.A. (circa 2000)



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