I have nothing to say today,
yet my fingers wants to walk in the rain.
My pen is dry,
all i want to do is cry.
My hands itch,
here and there a sudden twitch.
I wonder where the paper is,
i need a piece to write down please.
I cannot help it see i am what i am prescribed for.
I cannot just decide to take another ride and close this door.
I hate it often, yet i love it so.
I often just go with the flow.
I know its wrong to follow the stream,
but what can i do i need meat to eat.
Yes i am doing what they do and i often write down my stories,
but honestly i don’t want to do what they do i am so sorry.
Doing what you hate to do just to survive.