As I look down at the rocks below,
I wonder how far a rock would go.
Would it hit the bottom without a sound,
Or explode into shards as it struck the ground?
So too I wonder what would happen if I fell,
Into the darkest depths of my own hell.
Would I crash to the bottoms, never to be seen,
Or can I hope for an end that's more serene.

A poet speaks with only his pen,
Unveiling every secret and every sin.
For the page is a safe place for people like me,
Far away from where others can see.
For if you knew what hid in this ink,
You might be able to save me from the brink.

Here lies my last hope for tomorrow
Existence is met with nothing but sorrow
Let someone intervene and save my life
Please help alleviate or end this strife

My mind is filled with demons old
Entities more evil than any myths foretold

Part of me wishes for an end
Life is too far gone to mend
Eagerly, I await some sort of sign
An answer to this quest of mine
So please, send a person who knows
Even one way to beat life’s lows

Watch as the leaf floats to the ground
Hitting the earth without making a sound
Though it is only one of a forest so vast
It's beauty is something that can't be surpassed
Each inch holds a whole world within
Volumes of knowledge in something so thin
Its edges curled, its surface tinted red
An entire universe sits upon the forest’s bed

What do you do once your heart becomes stone?
How far must you chip before you don't feel so alone?
Every piece of marble waits to be sculpted
Just like every heart wishes to love, uninterrupted
But what do you do when you are tossed aside?
When the artist ignores the potential inside
How long must you wait unshaped and rough?
When do you decide that enough is enough?

Could it be, that you are my muse?
My inspirations source, my literary fuse?
The one to spark these feelings so strong
Are you what I have been searching for for so long?
The one to reignite my passion to write
My loves source, my guiding light
The very ink with which I create
These words which feel guided by fate

Muses, let my thoughts flow as if of ink
Like the great philosophers, into my mind I sink
To see what lies within the areas where few dare to go,
For introspection is a hard seed to grow
While we think we know what makes us tick,
The reality oftentimes makes us sick
The hatred, sadness, and thoughts of death
Leave the sourest of tastes on the sweetest of breath
But with these few words I hope you will see,
The truth in the enigma that is my psyche
For while from all other arts I do refrain,
These are the sad imaginings of a tortured brain.