Why do I find salvation in written words
Confiding in scribbles that resemble text
Human company proves little satisfaction
Yet little books ease my mind
Quarantined in my familiar chambers
A creature of habit; I begin to write.
Expressing stresses and confusion
Struggles and my constant fight
Will this bud emerge in spring sunshine
Or will it prove to be a useless ****
Deluded by expectations and dreams
A mere fickle and tainted seed
Drowning in toxic hatred
Experimenting and seeking refuge
Darkening and vile vices
Engraving a scar so huge
I live in these crisp pages
Coherent ink marks my tale
Yet my story is incomplete
My journey is yet to sail