Let me set fire to the tip of my pencil And use it as a candle To light this dark room.
Let the fuel I pour Be the very writing That burns me So I don’t have to close my eyes.
Let the torch I hold that scares The monster lurking in my mind Warm my cold thoughts.
As I hold my breath and sink In a room filling with water.
The price of warmth ... Is the little air I have left.
Please don’t leave me In this cold dark room With hope extinguished.
So I claw at a locked door With a burning piece of wood As I slowly drown in a cold dark room.
Trapped in here With myself.
Sometimes we lock ourselves away in our thoughts . We become so lost we are desperate not to be trapped alone with our own dispair. This feeling is suffocating and you cling to anything to stay afloat. The straw I chose to grab at is poetry