The ink smothers papers in unforgiving battles of writers.

Where fame outweighs the need for imagery, the structures aimed to be masterpieces, broken into master pieces.

The imagery lost with the message as words wonder about in disorganized sequences.

The meaning becomes opaque, as perspiration drowns the paper,panicing impatiently your words are flooded in pools of poems, so they fade and drift away, without any views or likes only dismay is displayed.

Fear in the bones,
fears I know,
all too well.

The chaos is raw,
what's wrong,
with me.

My legs are numb,
I can't run,
trapped.

I see the fire,
burning higher,
burn alive.

Cease all ****** functions,
I've reached a junction,
I'm through.

Surrender to it,
say you knew it,
I'm weak.

I keep finding myself searching desperately
My mind is distracted, slipping out of reality
It seems I find more comfort in my recent dreams,
Than what is actually occurring in real life

If dreams had grown themselves,
There would have been no need of the farmers for harvest!

A whispering upon the ear
A red velvet touch
The flow of life

The unwavering truth
The sound of the crow.