There is a brown envelope
Where I keeps my words.
Waiting to develop
into something more.

My emotions
Locked away in a bag.
My devotion
Taking a drag.

My life,
My drug.
The Knife,
The slug.

My true feelings,
This paper knows.
Everything about me,
With nowhere to go.

But here.
Staying locked inside.
There is no fear.
I know this is how I will die.

Me, myself, and I.
This pen and paper, when I cry.
Sometimes I wonder who'll even care
That I write about my life.