give me the inside scoope to your mind,
a mix of different things..
shades of gray and joy,
on top of my imagination,
how did you get to the point where you knew your words were good?
it wasn't worth a measure..I just threw some stuff out on the page,
people bring it to life..with the aray of emotions they have,
it's funny to sit here and consider words..the power,the meaning,
the gift you have for placing them right,
but why even write? why even go through the whole process?
It's like an ich that wouldn't go way,
no body could even see what I write, I'd still be writing..
the people don't matter..it's the process it's self that makes
the process,
there's just a certain amount of expression that I have to get out..
this just happen to be the means of pumping it out,
all is fair in the writing world..what's not fair is life.
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