My closest friends are the pen and the page. They take my rage and the war waged on my Sanity

The conflict brought by our no longer use of Humanity.

How could it be that we can not see the

Beauty that lies within us?

Our words could paint the quaint that our

Mouths could not.

I always believed that when we were conceived This power was implanted in me and thee.

As kids we always stated what we saw, said What we feel, questioned what was real. Alternate realities like Fiona and Cake. Nothing Was real, nothing was fake but rather what our Imagination could take.

When you write, your words live forever. And Now all your endeavors work for someone else's better. But to some it's whatever.