The Writers Voice
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inside the core.
words are born
and strung together
in the silence of my mind.
notice me walking and my glare
focused on what it seems to be the path ahead.
but I see nothing.
My eyes are wide open
but shut to the world.
I try to magnify what punctures me so deep inside
and I try to find , the source of these feelings.
layer after layer, I disassemble,
digging deeper and deeper, inside my own mind.
years of searching and attempting to prescribe my own treatment,
and find my own remedy.
and through the process, the sketch of my character is barely defined.
pessimistic notions shake my world, and steadiness is a quality
I'd kill to attain, so I can maintain.
but my emotions live no routine.
how will I feel today? and what will my emotions
put me through on this new day? maybe happiness
or maybe more of the same.
but i got to keep searching, keep piercing
my own soul. And purposely test my threshold
for emotional pain, so I can one day say,
"it cant get any worse than this" and finally now I can move on.
But until that day, I'll keep stabbing at my heart
with a weapon sharper than any knife.
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