Writers are forgetful, and detailed
They always have the right thing to say, sometimes at the worst times I used to think it was a gift, to feel every thing so deeply I have made my mind a museum for the world to admire from up close, and now..it's just a circus, for amusement I wanted to make it stop, stop feeling, stop writing, stop being so full But I couldn't, I couldn't make those words and voices inside my head stop It was like an addiction that fed off my sobriety and ate it whole Was I going insane? Was I the same person that I feared to become? I couldn't change myself as much as tried, and as the years went on and on I found myself lost in the colors and beautiful sight of it all, What a beautiful and tragic gift, to be so full of life and so empty at the same time
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AuthorA collection of a few published poems and spoken words by Keyla. Feel free to go through any of them, feed back is always welcome. Archives
April 2018
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