unto myself ...

Why do I write I ask myself... to write for me is to set my soul free. It is cleansing ... of thoughts that hound me to be set free with words.

How can I convince you that I write for no one but myself ? My writing is selfish . How do I convince you that I write of no-one and no-body ? I write of emotions I see around me... at times it is in people's eyes I imagine a fleeting moment. I write celebrating that moment of my imagination (perhaps)....

If my writing damages trust what am I to do ? Why does there need to be someone in spaces so sacred and personal to me... why dont you let me hold that pen with pride and that diary in solitude.

Bullets and Brain Fever!

And …
Then there is you, amidst all my choices.

All is grey; and there you are ….
Cruising past, like a gentle roll of thunder.
All turns still.
I smile; Miss a few heartbeats;
And crave over cups of coffee for-
Conversation, cigarettes, and togetherness.

Winter arrived with all her gloom,
And then I leave all behind,
As the gentle rumbling disappears,
I feel moments of absolute numbness,
I long for all that I miss.
And I wonder of what could have been.

But then….
There is you AND, there are those choices.