Poetry has always been the medicine for my tired, tormented head,
They tried to numb me away with many tiny pills, but "I'll be okay" I said.
With confusion, I knew none would understand,
What writing does for me, why typing or a pencil was more powerful than any drug induced trance.

When all has frightened me,
From voices, hallucinations, and death,
Writing is my heaven from the monsters who tell me:
"No one cares or loves you, just shut the hell up and go to bed."