Red Room Where the Writers Are

Lingering Melody Of Confusion

 this lingering melody of sadness creating a symphony known as my life. insecurities,no confidence, lies, deciet, envy, and neglection part of my everyday life and yet i'm still able to get rid of it with a simple pen and paper. the led of pencil is my poisoning blood that can only do harm, the ink of a pen is my painful tears that i release elping myself and others, and the paper is my battle field of which i fight between my life and my dreams. why should i risk my all just to become nothing? as if anyone would care if i did anything. if i do wrong i'm quickly recognized and treated like an outcast. but if i do right there's still a flaw that can be spotted and punishable. can't run to anyone for safety except for yourself. can't be saved in this deserted despair. why would i waste my time crying if no one cares not even me? i show no pain, i show no fear because my opinoins and thoughts are irrelevant in everyway possible. everything i say can be used against in the most negative way, so why not just isolate myself from what's always hurting me. how can isolate myself?runaway...right?nope.first time i attempted all hell broke loose, so maybe i should think this off til i come up with something. but that never does good because every idea i come up with fails. well i guess i'll have to move on something better. to be continued...