I am honest with my pen,
but not as much when I speak
If you ask me how I am doing,
I’d say; everything is fine,
it seems
But when my eyes won\'t shut
in the dead of night,
I pour ink on paper
and it writes;
I wish I could return
to a time when my heart
had not known what it was
to be whole
to not have tasted loneliness,
though I had always
been alone
I wish to never recognize
this void that fills my mind
with echoes of sweet memories
and painful realization