I’m a lone wolf howling in the woods drawn into darkness blinded by mere mysteries I am that I am because you are of what you made me you’ve dispersed me into wilderness you’ve made my soul as hollow as a ill-treated tree of life you are my weakness you are joy you are a demon implanted in me I’m somewhere between psychotic and ironic misunderstood by defiants ... sometimes I don’t relate to my thoughts, my skin, my walk, and smile sometimes I don’t know freedom; is it reluctant obedience towards a fiend or constant countless breaths of a new life? I’m not death for I live in the presence of life you were almost the death of me but my artistry became the saviour - the saviour of my soul, my mind, my heart I’m a lone wolf howling in the woods where darkness was drawn to light.
Confrontation between my mental illness and I, in my darkest room. “I’m not giving up my art without a fight.”