I tried to make it sound less suicidal...writing is basically all I live for.
Painful evasions, deathly evasions, everything falling apart.
Rythym and rhyme, spent through all time,
Can only serve as walls against good work.
Nothing makes sense, I try to be there, but no one is there for me.
I hate to work, love to write, please dont leave me just out of spite.
No matter what, we will stay together, if only from the words in a letter.
We cannot part, you and I, for if that happened, I would lay down and die.
No matter what, I will come first, but please, my love, dont leave me to die.
With out you, without imagination, I would cease to be, a magnificent creation.

I wrote this after my sis bashed me for finally showing her my stuff. She said I would never be a writer, and couldnt put two words together if they were magnetized. I almost kicked her across the room. I restrained myself. Barely...
