still broken hearted

but what is an artist to do?

except sit around

write about how I want truth

whatever that is

like we're all some sort of magic

luminous being

removing the sting of being alive

seeing things objectivly

as opposed through our own eyes

I write,simply to love

if I wasnt doing this I'd be doing hard drugs

harder then the ones I'm on

in my head I write songs

on my arms I write sonnets

my heart is a bonfire...it feels muse less

bruises & cigarettes

another lonely doorstep I rest in

clueless...& yet I havent a doubt

I guess this is what following your heart is about