am a whore of emotions Cheaper than I'd like to be Going through the motions My existence an apology I am a petrol pump of affection Where faces do briefly stop Refueling smiles of empty transaction My heart a misplaced prop I am a delivery boy of assurance Faster than I'd like to be Ready at their doors with abundance And the Price they say, i agree. I am a first aid kit of consolation Fully stacked and ready for use Comforting bandage of affirmation Eager recipient of their unhealed wounds I am the second prize in elections Tha back-up plans to hopeful dreams The instant coffee and powdered milk I am the shop they run into from rains The shade of the tree on the side of the road The reluctant option to a failed choice I am the prostitute of life Too guilty to live Too hopeless to die I exist for the sake of others Once im useless I'll live for myself.
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.