Poetry coming soon...

Really at most, it's just intrusive thoughts that love to consume
A force weapon of a pen,—red; as the after article read, is the inkling of inner demons demonstrating themselves out of my head
Amongst a night of inhaling the devil's smoke, painting ash in my lungs As it's not of doing the act for fun; or being numb to the obvious self harm. The burning passion in my heart is a fireplace,
as the smoke at times comes up and out of a chimney neck
To then coughing those fumes like a dying exhaust, exhausted by
a facade of pretending not to be as odd

With voices in my head...

Screaming whispers of a daily insecurity, usually when I
convince myself of not being belittled by the litter of *****
thoughts, that I quickly clean off with an innocent smile
Mr Nice Shy guy; someone you shouldn't waste to bat an eye
But the truth will swing at you abruptly

Things that all happen in the dark...

The sort of enlightening events to reveal one's darkest spot
Like those who act a little more holy than their holes in their
socks,—it's all but the stench of us all searching to be whole
But it's ironic though, that you need to feel whole to fill up a hole
And my mind is this gaping hole, that only a pen could fill in this deep abyss. But it sometimes betrays me like a Judas kiss, hanging me over
As I have an angel and demon battling over who speaks louder on my stronger shoulder

Poetry is coming soon, I'm just waiting for the voices in
my head.  All those voices of the things that all happen
in the dark

             My poetic demons