I tried hard to stay sane and afloat
paused myself from making holes in my boat
I tried hard not to dive into the ocean
so I kept my knees in, embracing the water's devotion
I tried hard to sail on with them waves
persuading myself that I am worthy to be saved

I'm frustrated
      suffocated
from words
       choked
thoughts turned to
       smoke
nothing left
for me to
       *****

Worn out from the fight
                                                                    




                                                                     my bones
scared to write

I force open my veins,
nothing comes out, not even pain
no more bloodshed, no more cries
all is left
is a blank paper full
of sighs
I glide my pen across
only to have my sentences hit
a pause
Everything used to just
flow out
of
me
Now, I can't even
construct a sentence
at ease
Everything is dead and dull
everything
is
dead
and
dull
Crack open my skull,
nothing to see
emotions are null

t’s pretty painful to try to grasp what’s real
when the emptiness in your soul is all that you feel.

So.
This ballpen of mine offered me a deal,
he said:
In order for those shallow wounds of yours to heal,
the lines you create must have an appeal.

In short, your sentence need to rhyme,
for that ragged heart of yours to be fine.