My poetry sets me free.
Free from reality,
Away from everybody.
The miserable moments in my life,
The memories that lead me to a knife.
Oh yes,
It sets me free from hell.
But it helps me feel just as well.
When I’m full of love and compassion,
I write about my undying passion.
My tears might spill onto a page,
Or I’ll rip it up with,
Very violent rage.
I need to get out of this cage;
My mind.
Need to find more of my kind,
Demons afraid to speak.
More lost souls to seek,
I know I cannot be alone, or else hell would be empty.