Call me crazy, label me disconnected from reality,
Say I'm no Angel, but an empty shell influenced by Devils

Words remain my chapel, and poetry, my citadel.

Say that I'm overthinking, not trying - miserable,  
My words will remain anything but invisible
Call my bluff, and I'll create
an art gallery, A showcase of my Hell
When darkness has its way with me
My words are umbra blades
To dissect my mental health
When sickness is a spider, swaddling it's buffet
~
To fight this predator
One cannot remain the prey
     I became it's equivalent as the world cast me away

Call me disconnected, call me crazy, self-sabotage is still the mightiest foe I face
& as I lie awake within the ebbs of insomnias wake
writing stayed - my only company,
Writing never left me, even when others did
Sometimes I swear the words write me.
The words are a bridge
of my mind & my pen.
    
Sometimes sweet as can be,
~ Words have been my only friends ~
Other times, spoken in creaks,
in thumping steps, & rhythmic heartbeats.
The ground -
shifting
inside itself, thunderous clouds,
a faceless army
shadows of souls-sold,
as they walk, they fold into themselves—a story untold,
~ loose ~
dropped like a stone