Once again i sit on my bed.
all alone with thoughts in my head.
The click clack of the keyboard repeating itself.
The words in my head, emerging from hell.
Flowing to the screen on which you read.
The words I write are what's left of me.
I am but a whisper in the wind.
My mind is gone, it's on the paper, so thin.
These poems i write are what i feel within.
Brush past them, or read them, whichever you may choose.
What i write is what i feel and that is true.
I sit here and write, and pour out my soul.
and all who look see something as dark as coal.
So turn back now, if you choose to believe me.
There is this darkness i perceive, one that you too will see.