writing (part 3)

Writing. All writers are different I do it for sadness I do it for lost I do it for grief I do it to live When I pick up a pen It's because I'm done Iv let this world run me into the ground Iv slipped and fallen down Into a hole which I can't escape This endless agony Seems to be my fate with so much to learn and so much to do So much to see but still I can't find a reason A reason to be When a reason to live walks into my life They walk back out, twisting there knife And when you trust so much And you get destroyed, for the rest of your life You will be hopelessly paranoid