Got no one to talk to but my pen & paper, on which I rely to take me to a world that’s safer

Submerge in a sea of ink when I’m losing my mind, can’t get a grip, and my sanity is on the line. When the frail boat my soul is on is bout to sink…

My pen & paper…
serve as a bunker in this war I call life. My existence is accentuated by perpetual strife. For an ephemeral moment all that comes to a blissful cease, when I call on pen & paper to start a piece

I hop on the quill train, cruise through the paper tracks, escape from the overwhelming tension & cruel attacks. And with every line, days that are nuclear split into new and clear. My pen and paper dissipate all my fears

And until the paper crumbles and the ink dries, in troubled times they’ll be the wings on which my soul flies

And at times when the mind needs a path to distant dimensions of inspiration, escape from frustration and wrath… My weak spirit will get through a much burdened day; for my pen, my paper will be leading the way