At times I feel of poetry
As a noose around my neck
The further I jump into it
The tighter that it gets

Years ago I wish I'd known
As I climbed those fateful steps
That poetry would eventually
Lead to certain death

Not death in the physical sense
But death to the very soul
In the way it has seeped in deep
Taking complete control

Showing itself for what it is
Long after it's grabbed ahold
Poetry I do belive
Has its noose around my throat