life is raw
every now and then I pick up my pen
I write for hours and hours on end
about the world, the life I have
about journeys, about courage
the visions I see
they always seem to help me
go round and round
some seem to frown while others drown
like the touch from a mother I’m so damn comfortable I never want to leave it. the feeling is something like a spiritual healer. That could end me, I think that’s the part I find intriguing
A little bit off I am, I am, I am
I see that I’m caught I am, I am, I am..
is it wrong that I starve myself cause I’m broke as fuck?