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HANDFULLS OF SHATTERED SOUL I SPREAD IN THIS BARREN FIELS THAT IS MY JOURNAL SPRINKLES OF HEART AND ESSENCE OF THOUGHTS.
NOTHING BUT DELUSIONS OF MY MIND,
NOT POEMS, NOR STORIES, NOR FABLES ALL THIS IS,
IS CHIMERA,
FOOLISH FIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION.
YOU ARE THE ONE I WRITE FOR,
YOU ARE MY INSPIRATION,
THE PUPOSE OF THESE HERE LINES, ARE FOR YOU TO READ THEM.
THE PAIN THAT SQUEEZES THESE THOUGHTS OUT OF MY TORTOURED BRAIN,
YOU SHOULD THANK IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU READ.
THEY FLOOD MY MIND AT TIMES.
EVERYONE TRAVELS IN CIRCLES,
OURS IT SEEMS WERE NOT MEANT TO CROSS PATHS.
WE WERE KEPT SO FAR APART, THAT THE ONLY WAY FOR YOU TO KNOW I EXIST IS FOR ME TO FOOLISHLY REACH OUT TO YOU, THE ONLY WAY I KNOW HOW, WRITTING.