My poems are so dark that sometimes they frighten me
do I hate or enjoy darkness?
does it define me?
Is this the person that  I am deep down?
Would you read THIS POEM and still think that Born is sane?

Which person shuns hope
In such a sweet way, that he almost entices you into despair?
Who the heck writes such an emotive piece
that screams help me
But doesn't rely ask for it

Does my path lead to purgatory
a haunting forsaken place?
Why call myself Born
If am dead inside.

Why do I lie to myself
that my poems are filled with light that will brighten my days
is hopelessness a gift to be shared or devoured and isolated?
is a ray of light that frightening?