A poet,
One of our best,
Got far
Inside himself.
He LOL a lot,
Used emoticons
And dots,
To share
Personal thoughts;
Then he forgot
His name.

A pseudonym's
A precarious thing;
Its acronym
Might fool you.
But a nom de plume
Becomes you,
Like Twain, Orwell
Or Seuss.
So, when your writing
Takes you far,
It's important
To remember
Who you are.

There's just too much on my mind
And it's hard to define these emotions
The explosions of neurotic brain waves
Feeling dazed, losing touch with reality
I'm finally losing every ounce of sanity
It's blasphemy to think I'm alright
Cause at night, there's ghosts in my dreams
And it seems they'll never stop haunting me
Reality? That's officially become a blur
Stirring up demons from my past
At last I can say I found a way out
But I have doubts if it could actually save me
This destiny I found with the barrel of a gun
Hell, it hasn't been fun, completely out of touch
There's not much left on my mind
As the bullet finds a home between my eyes