When I feel so broken, I can't draw.
When I feel so lost, I can't create.
This is when I write. When words flow from the pen in a seemingly effortless illusion. The effort is in the feeling, in the confusion and heartache.
No matter the happy-joy filled tales I crave to write; these tense, depressing words are all that flow onto my paper.
The pain that I hide, the hurt I shield from others. No suffering of mine shall be exposed on my face nor said out loud. This happy, although fake expression you see; will be plastered on day by day so that no one shall worry bout me.
I will be your shoulder to cry on and the calm in the storm and in return I ask but one thing of you. Don't ask me if I'm ok.
