when I write is it me who controls my pen or the pen that controls me
 for when I write I do not hear I do not feel
 yet emotions spill forth through the ink my insecurities my love my pain my curse unbidden and shame
I fear to stop the flow of the pen across the paper for I might not be able to begin again
 is it truth harsh and real that comes out of my pencils tip
 for my pen has broke the back torn to shreds by my never ending chewing on the tip
thinking of what to say does the next thing that slips past my shattered guard be the redeeming quality to my fabled tale
 or will it sink through the nights abyss never to be found from the oceans embrace
 I hear the waves as they crash upon the shore
the low moan of a passing gale the wind blowing hard as it furls through my sails
 down falls my heart with the winds sad song
but what does depart leaves me with but a charm
so what shall I do but accept a warm embrace and open my eyes to see paper once more but filled with lines written
 was it me who controled the now broken pen that guided me to the soft texture of the pencil
or was it me ever consious of what I write
do I purposefuly lay a meaning that can be so leading even if it's decieving
but it can't be true for I remember not what I write
so does that mean it was not me to control the pencil I used
there was not thought so how did it come to be
 perhaps my soul looking for inner peace even though the stories tragic state maybe I shall not ever know what is my fate
 so maybe it does not matter who lead me across the paper
 whether it had been the pen my mind or my soul
 the charge is complete it's time to let go even in my dreams
it's time to leave it alone
my mind wills as the paper fills with lines so bold yet frail and old
here I'll leave off as the wind blows soft against my face so cold