Sometimes, all I want to do is write,
Every little thought in my mind’s sight,
All the little things I ever did or said,
From sun-up till I go back to bed.
Sometimes all I want to do is hurt for a while,
Chase every little shadow born from a smile,
But I lack inspiration,
And my mind’s too tired for concentration.
I do not hope or dream of another life,
I don’t want to add more to this one’s strife,
The loss of this one would bring that to life,
Balanced as it is on the edge of a knife.
I keep on walking when I want to lie down,
I keep on hoping though the world spins around,
I know that I feel frustration,
But that is why this is my confession.
Ruth. P. – 2016 ©
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