extra dark coffee

It starts with pain the sense of being unfulfilled the sense of being unskilled and the black/blue stain that covers your skin a broken heart covered with scars but why did that happen have you ever thought about it? have you ever thought why do you still try to fit into this world that abandoned you ages ago? why do you show  no signs of self? why did you sow the seed in a well so deep you can't even see  the bottom and there inlays your own personality where is your own wish I ask you, I ask you what you want to do? There are dreams that are suppressed  so hard that you can't even guess what they are now do you? are these words sharp to you? it is to me, despite writing them myself, so focused on others I forgot how I felt, isn't that true for most of you? do you even remember your true self and what you want to be? scared of offending those who are never meant to be taking hits and sass for being yourself for once you can let your facade melt  and try to see what is bene

A lot has been said  a lot had to be said that's what we do, we the word warriors that's what we do, we the hurt worriers that's at times all we have that's at times all we can slap others with, our mode of expression that's the skill we have chosen to hone after years and years of jolting down useless lines after days and months of thinking through times through times of worries and through times of stress word has been our last line of defense the things written but unspoken the lines written from the heart that is broken yes, that is the only thing we have at most times the only place where we can safely whine but there comes a time when all of it stops, There comes a time when the pen drops and that is what we consider our death when all that needs to be said has been said or when the last hope of hope has been laid to rest that's when we have lost interest not in our craft but in our lives that is when a writer truly dies and writers block is not the death