So I can't play music,
But I can sing pretty good,
I can write with a pen,
Doused in my soul,
I can make you cry,
With the words I create,
I can make you feel,
The way I've felt,
And I like the reactions,
That I get,
I like the fact,
That others invite me,
In to their hearts and minds,
To taste me and my sorrow,
My happiness is what they get,
And I'm left empty,
But strangely satisfied,
At least my sorrow,
Helps brighten up my day,
When I write and create,
A new life on a page.
Every work is a part of me,
Revealed for the first time,
And explored by the world,
Of lost souls.
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