I write to clear my head.
I write the sad thoughts I think in bed.

I try to release my feelings on paper, using ink, wielding a pen as a sword,
To slash the pain I feel inside with every word.

I use it as a shield against the raging attack of depression.
It takes a lot to make even that small confession.

The ache in my head recedes as if the ink is on the small table pen is taking the pain out of my fingertips, flowing on to paper, that I use as a shield.
I look at the paper, that holds the words I use to protect myself against the evil that is pain, I smile at my new poem to wield.