Truth is...

The lines I'm bleeding out of me
Are by no meaning poetry
There's no pattern dictating rhymes
It's just the way I feel sometimes

The words that I am writing here
No one can't claim to see them clear
It's no one's place to understand
What was once written by my hand

The thoughts that I now scream out loud
Don't need to be heard by the crowd
Don't analyze what here you've read
And be sure you know what I said

Believe me now! What you see here
Is far away and no where near
The fact, the feeling or emotion
That put my odd world into motion

There's no reason for which I write
Other than to now bring to light
Senseless thoughts that crowded my head
And that I thought had to be read

So believe none of what I said...

* Truth is... we all try to criticize someone's work and figure out how they think. This is a confession to those who claim to know what we write and why we do it. No one can know that and no one can say for sure. And if I said that well enough, Carmen said it even better :))
"E adevărat..."