This habit of mine is an addiction,
Most of it is not fiction,
I do this for myself and emotions,
I do it to show my different devotions.
A piece of paper simple and pure,
Is like a bait to me, like a lure,
This pen in my hand is decided,
My thought and words, from this paper, will never be divided.
When a tear drops from these eyes,
When the gasps turn into sighs,
I will always have a place to turn to,
Oh paper, I can always turn to you.
I write because it is my healer,
My salvation, my peaceful dealer;
I write to give my life meaning,
To know that on my writing, someone will always be leaning.