I don't write because it's my passion, that I would touch millions of souls with my mind, I'm not dying for that to happened. I write because it's my reliever. the pen as it moves acrosss the paper helps me to alievate the pain I suffer. And The ink releases the stress that I have to cover. It gives me a since of freedom. That same fredom a person with PPD feels before their wrists goes numb. Sometimes it's hard to walk around with a smile, to appear to be content so people can ask you to stay a while. My time and patience is running down like a file so before my walls explode, I rather release with ink which gives me time to reload. Sometimes my thoughts are so insane; how can I be so cold? My thoughts towards certain relationships can start so ripe then turn into mold. I think about the spoiled rotten relationships, but rather then the tears fall, I rather have the ink drain down my walls.