27 octubre, 2008

all over again

it's so weird
whenever i'm in real pain, the writing just comes up
blossoms all of a sudden
it kept sleeping for years, 'cause.. who needs to weep when all things are in the right place.

writing reminds me that things can become a mess.
that the sun won't shine for ever.
that people can hurt, and i can too.
that life can really suck.

by writing i keep finding myself
the teenage girl that might never grow up
god, i love that girl
she's the real me
an essence that bleeds, cries, and dies just to be born again

that's the only reason why god won't ever put an end to pain
there wouldn't be poetry if the pain was gone
and without poetry, who could feel a thing?