Writers 
The rain pelts my body. One drop at a time.
It washes away the little emotions I have gotten. None remains.
My head is for the clouds, not the crowds. All things being equal.
The anger I felt was a lance piercing the friendship I thought I had. Nothing remains.
If I should lose my head, then dignity should open the door when I knock.
Who am I really? A bird lost from the pack but not pecked.
All that happened seems for the best but seriously, I need to feel again.
I walked the streets of self pity, stones of hardship drawing the blood off me.
Who says it is good to feel? All these love hate drive me to a dark tunnel.
Ask the mad man. He tells you that feelings are trash worthy of being thrown out.
I crave for the bitter taste of heartbreak. Or maybe, I'm going insane.
My asylum is just a cold front, hidden a line soul from the public.
Who wants to feel a thing when it is somehow driving you crazy?
All my life, pebbles have been given me. Emotions, they call it.
But seriously. Can't I sleep in peace without this guy patting my heart?
