Down deep,

In the pit of my stomach

Is where she resides.

Though she tries to soothe me

And ease my worried mind

Her hands are like knives.

Keeping them busy,

Carving lines intertwined,

Sacrificing flesh

For an abstract design

She wipes clean the blood,

Lines are clearly defined.

Though obscure, It’s precise

And pleasing to the eyes.

She’s intrigued at her work.

What a clever disguise.

I could scream all the time

From the pain she denies.

She claims It’s her truth,

I know It’s a lie.

Spilling Nonsense...

I’ve been occupied in the most disturbing way

And I blame you

I blame you for turning me into a dependant fool

An obedient tool

But you are unaware

Unaware of what you’ve turned me into

Unaware that I am mad because of you

A nut, yeah you ruined all

Made me feel small

Unintentionally I presume

You didn’t mean to break me down

Didn’t mean to mess around

With no one but me

I was too caught up in the fog to see

The light shining through

Leading the way, away from you

I looked passed the signs, and fell in a hole

6 ft. under, lost my soul

Now I’m spilling nonsense all over the page

Spilling nonsense for all to read

Spilling nonsense endlessly

Away I go messing about

Because I truly can’t live without

Someone to blame

Someone to hate

Sharing my pain

In a weakened state.

Writer's block: A brief definition.

You are writing something inspirational, of substance, with the full intent to make an impact. It’s as  if the pain seeps through  the veins of an ever-glowing  firefly regarding his existence as obtuse and undefined to the point of  worthless insanity. But why should anyone  stop you? Is this real? This inhibition to satisfy your soul? To seize control and release uncertainty; release curiosity.  It’s a kind freedom, fighting for survival.