Trapped in a prison of illusions;
Intertwined in a life with no solutions,
At every turn there’s a question with no answer;
For every smile there’s a more threatening cancer,
The rubble we walked upon is the road of life;
A freeway of pain, broken dreams and spite,
What we see is what we get;
and what we know is all there is,
Life forms in circles, giving us one way to live.
Deep down inside, there’s still something for you;
Something that’s nice, somethings that’s true
I can feel its presence, pressing against my soul;
Scratching its way from deep, way down in a hole
If it reaches the peak, then there will be nothing to hide;
I’ll have no choice, but to show the love deep inside
Somewhere, there’s a sense of security that I can’t find.
I’m walking away from the pain and into the shade,
away from the white and into the grey.
There was once peace, but that’s all gone.
All that’s left a piece but it has no form.
Someday, I swear I’ll find some comfort, away from the black cloud above my head.
For now, I will duck and I will dodge, away from the hurt.
Buried in sorrow as heavy as dirt
I am a writer, not a fighter. A blank sheet of paper is my enemy and I attack with my heart and my pencil. Violence doesn’t solve my problems, writing does. When I’m angry I look to that blank sheet to relieve my stress. When I’m down, I don’t come out swinging … I come up writing. I have no need to fight and every need to write. This is my release, this is my way out of trouble, this is my life. I am a writer … not a fighter.