Sometimes I find myself writing,
Just to fill the emptiness,
Or make sense
Of internal chaos
It has become a whole new world
An escape from reality
Or a way to create a new one
Anything is possible
Fate is dictated
By ink in a feeble hand
Such power to create stories
Relive dreams and nightmares
More often than not
I find myself writing
And I don't know why
Its become a way to dissociate
Which often backfires
I write about feelings
That have been long forgotten
Repressed and neglected
Its a release
Of things I never knew needed releasing
Its an expression of emotions
Left to be discovered
Yet to be named
But felt for centuries.
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