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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

I just need a to myself.
I've been writing open letters in a of writer's block.
me see.
me feel.
A or a coma, the pen and ink is therapy.
I counted every sign You revealed to me.
His presence is but it's myself I fear.
It's I fear.
Page after page, line after line, I'm running out of to say.
I'm out of time.
My keep on writing but nothing makes any sense.
These words on paper, they've all said before.
Speak me.
I'll You like a torch.
Now me burn.
As patience and the fought through the night, my frustration buries me.
The words on coming but everything seems to blend.
I've tried so hard to write being real, that I think I've forgotten how to feel.
Prisoner.
Prisoner.
Captive by words I write.
Prisoner.
Prisoner.
Shepard me Your light.
If I'm being honest, it's to be honest with You.
I'll be transparent, but it's so hard to through.
If I write down my darkest desires, If I reveal the things my mind conspires, You still love me?
I'll open up like a out old book.
I'll up with feelings I overlook.
Would You love me?