I select my weapon of choice
My ball pointed friend, my inky voice
My opinions, emotions, thoughts in my mind
The tool that expresses them and helps me unwind.
It’s strange, it really does help me
Putting things on paper, helps me to see
That perhaps, everything isn’t so bad
And maybe it’s a waste, always being sad.
I’d like to do this more often but life gets in the way
Over thinking things doesn’t help, it kinda ruins the day
However my mind is forever racing, it can’t keep still
It drives me insane and I think it forever will.
So why do I write these things again, if it makes me depressed?
Perhaps because writing is a gift of which I feel blessed
But maybe it’s just because I need some form of hope
And writing all this, is just how I cope.
Date of writing: 18/07/2013, 03:03AM