A beautiful book was given to me;
the pages carried hope,
with every empty space that had not been filled.
I realised I could fill these pages
with many thoughts,and dreams.
...Time stops;
the pages begin to fill themselves,
as I sit,completely alone
in this place I used to call"home".
With everything empty around me,
I begin to see beauty,
in the loss,
the alcohol abuse...the damage I've done-
and the damage others have done to me;
and it removes the pain,if only for a brief moment,
and opens my heart,
because that is where my words come from-
and the pages shall finally be filled...
...everything becomes an inspiration;an artform
and I see the dark clouds unravelling around me
as I piece my thoughts together
in my prose
to share,in a respectful honesty.
