Sitting alone I type 
My head pounding to the tick of the clock 
My fingers methodically typing the words of my heart 
I search, and I search through countless thoughts, with wishes that one will be good enough 
That one of these overbearing ideas will open the heart of someone who sits like me 
Waiting, hoping, praying for a cure of this mental torment 
I sit asking for some form or gathering of words to take away the pain 
I sit, and I type not only as a choice but as a need 
A need for something to open my mind, to take some of these thoughts and words that I drown in  
And place them somewhere new 
To find a home for a phrase that may somehow be the saving grace of another lost soul 
I sit, and I type day in and day out 
Through days of trials I never thought I could escape 
Through days of pain I never thought I could mange 
But here I am telling my story as I sit, and I type