And she always has been one
To write it all down on paper.
Her curse is that she always feels,
Loves too hard, and hates too hard.
Her paper cuts bleed like cut veins.

But pouring out your aching soul can cause
Relieved burdens to neglect you.
With the irony of it never making eye-contact
'Till the day realization consents to float within your grasp.

Then, the pen will quickly lose its magic,
And the paper the power to hold-
It will seem to hard to be anymore
Pointless emotions will constantly fleet through your mind
Over-extending, then fading into the surreal.

And on that day, when with the rising sun
Comes your decision to end it all with a knife shaped of solace
You will, without any questions or inhibitions
Cast your broken heart away.

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