.......bring peace to the
one who couldnt find it
he's like that.
he'd like to make such a difference
in an unsuspecting life
when he bought the typewriter,
they told him it was new.
at first he believed it.
that lasted about 2 pages.
from there,
it seemed as though the words
willed themselves onto the paper.
he hardly had time to think them
that is, if he thought of them at all.
his fingers flew over the keys
and the worlds splattered themselves,
black on white,
some letters darker than the rest.
what he ended up writing
turned out heart-wrenching
instead of heartwarming
like he had planned.
happened more than once, too.
he would start up a piece,
thinking about it,
how he would make it warm
and comforting
and finished with something
that tore at his heart
instead.
once, he became so mad
he threw his drink at the wall.
never bothered with the stain
"whats the point" he said
the room's not even painted anyway.
he crumpled ripped and shredded
countless pages
yet somehow always rewrote them.
after a few weeks,
he accepted it.
he was convinced that the typewriter
was once owned by someone
desperate
desperate
so desperate
to let out thoughts
and anguish
and tried
desperately
but could not find the words.
so he decided
he would finish it.
hes dedicated his time and patience
and his heart
to exhaust that typer.
to pull every
single
sorrowful
screaming
word
out of it.
and maybe somehow
somewhere
bring peace to the
former owner.
he's like that.
he'd like to make such a difference
in one so unsuspecting...
