Painted-ghost

The Pencil I cry here for the pencil with which I wish to draw My feelings and emotions spilling from raw depression Death would be too simple for this complex world Life goes on after death death goes on during life, And inquisitive minds enquire of its meaning, I would look to the skies for advice if I knew There would be someone there to heed my gaze, But loneliness in my heart spans high above the clouds Which shift in a breeze as freely as emotions. A crowd is often the loneliest place to be When your heart cries solitude and your brain craves company. With those who love you the most you feel empty, With those