People write poetry,
to clear their guilty souls.
To try and find hope,
in a world that's so cold.

They spill out their heart.
They spill out their soul,
in hopes that they find
some glistening gold.

Some form of release,
to put their worries to bed.
find the light in the tunnel
through all the crap they've been fed.

But not I.

The reason I write,
is all but too clear.
I write because I live,
and ill write until I disappear.