I hoard minutes in a prison of digits where the bars are prisms and the lights, delights. I weigh bliss on a scale of cause where the weights are loss and the needles, flaws. I count peace on a tally of smiles where the lines are lies and the equations, deceptions. I look too close yet I see very little I feel too much yet feelings, riddle. ecstasy eludes as I stalk its scent taunting me while smiles around ascent. now I'm chasing Melancholy and she's chasing me back running around in circles never ready to attack.
I write for a multitude of reasons. sometimes to escape, sometimes to create and play god. But if the question is why do I write, then I am sorry to say that I have no reason. Or to be exact, I don't know any reason. Sometimes I get pleasure out of it, sometimes it numbs my pain, sometimes the opposite. sometimes nothing at all. I guess this is how I process life. please read through my heart and mind, and leave a comment to let me know how you felt these words.