I do not pause to think before I write or hesitate to put the pen to page; I could be read in hope or read in rage, my lines may settle soft or hammer cold. I don't hold words back however they may bite or stir up some unease inside your mind, or make you long for love you'll never find, those pages torn, those stories left untold. If I tell you of my pain I hope you ache, I'll show you every hidden scar and bruise, unfold myself with every word I use and show you all the world my heart can hold. So I thread these stars and voids onto a string, these little beads of heaven and of hell, and I don't think of any other thing than telling you my soul, and telling well.
