In my hand I hold a ****** pen
repeatedly staked
into my hole ridden heart.
-As I write walls around my mind,
I am locked so far away
from the scolding stares
of ignorant eyes.
I mark the trail of my escape by
Silently bleeding ink across the canvas,
that is my written world.

In my shaking hand I hold a pen,
A sword secretly unsheathed each night
To resist  the unrelenting
demons that dance in the depths of my mind.
Afraid to succumb to sleep
for the fight to seize a soul so shattered
that it longer swings, slashes and stabs
at the black hands holding down
the broken body
desperate for demented thoughts to dissipate.

In my hands I no longer hold a pen,
as out the throat that screams
of a self fulfilling prophesy of pain
protrudes a pen,
and as only silence survives
an empty shell stares back,
haunted by what I've done
longingly gazing at the light far above
as I crawl out the  black pit
I willingly plunged into
for the last time.