All I can do, to release the pain is drink till I am sane again and then at last, I start to write my own art a sorry sight. for suddenly I'm not reborn from every word my heart is torn instead of usual sweet release, my words refuse to give me peace. and though I write to truly live I find my words are things that give a killing blow, where once I found a way to reach my solid ground My words were ways to deal with pain, not fill the space until again, you lay beside me, unaware, of how I love, and how I care, So here I am, and here I start, begin to pull myself apart, as usual to lay to rest, the heavy weight within my breast, but now my usual sanctuary lies, unfulfilled, and slowly dies, So now my constant last resort, has left me with no great import. And potent combination true has left me with so much to do. the alcohol, and writing dear, the last of things that I should fear, upon my hour deserted me, not left me hope to set me free, the one thing I relied upon, within your love, my art is gone.Birth sign: Aries
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