My words? They come out only when I am sad
But I am happy today
Its an empty sort of happiness, an alyrical happiness
A feeling that won't let me get me my rhythm
But rather words that come out are
Like an expression of uncontrolled joy
Yet lacking expression
Till the habit of writing kicks in
Giving it that old rhythm
Of an old hand to its bonds
My bane, my curse
My very own words
Empty Happiness. That's all.
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