Why do I write?
Think about this.
Imagine for yourself, a dark room
dark walls with no door,
an empty abode for all of one's thoughts.
Nothing leaves this room
Many, however, enter.
These are my feelings and everything
that can be poured out of my heart in anyway
This is my blood that I refuse to shed
This is my sanctuary for all of me that is a wretch.
When my back is against the wall in life.
When it all gets a hold of me
This is my safe place, my solitude.
Where I go in writing is where others go to clear their mind.

I come home, My clothes tattered and worn
From all those people who leave my heart torn.
I go to this room, I yell into the abyss.
"Tell me! Tell me why this,
This wretched event must enter my life
Give me open wounds, self-inflicted by knife
Day and night, I pace back and forth.
What will I do, what am I worth?
When fear of others sets in
Not of bruising or scars on my body
But on my heart. When the cardiac organ
climbs up my throat
When the fire inside me skips two beats.
When my stomach is turning and I can't throw up
because I am not sick, I am not dying
my nerves are all over the place jumping up
jumping down
left
right
Help me, I'm falling
Pick me up
up
up.

But don't let my pain deceive.
Though anger and depression sometimes leak out of the room, there is hope.
Every time my heart jumps. Every time my cheeks begin to hurt from smiling too wide.
Every time I get those blisters on my feet from walking with you on the beach for so long.
I yell those emotions into the room too.
We live through the pain, because we live for the joy.