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What I Do
April 3, 2011
I feel so much.
I need to write.
But no words come to mind.
I feel so little.
I still need to write.
Nothing original, seems all words have been written.
Overflow of words, of faces.
I do my best to remember.
Then im empty, nothing left.
Oh, a silly little thing called poetry.
Just to please ourselves, they would say.
But theres so much more they cant see.
What to do, what to do.
I cant keep a hold on myself.
Madness, chaos, poetry is what i do.
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