Thank you my pain
Thank you my agony
Thank you my sufferings
For giving birth
To the poet in me

You always preferred your coffee black,
Strong and hot and stable,
I would sip my tea across the kitchen table.
Silent moments such as these,
Would make me feel my most at ease.
But now all that's left is tea.

what would it be like to let go?
to let myself get that low...
what would it be like to jump?
to let my demons have triumph...
what would it be like to fall?
to never wake up from it all...
what would it be like to die?
to let my soul fly...
what would it be like to cease?
to let myself rest in peace...