I sit on chair, so late at night
My pen has scratched, it fought its fight
     The Sacred Fight, Immortal Plight
     Speaking what it thought was right

Curled up, so tightly writing
Stare at hand, the thing supplying
Rhythm, rhyme, structure divine
Words I speak, in perfect time

Fire burned, with no direction

Strictly Up, straight towards Heaven

         All now left, are embers glowing
         Mere shadows of, what I was knowing

Numbing down the sparking thoughts

I drink my beer

I smoke my ***

         Leaving Leaping Flames to rot

Voice rings out to empty room

Echoes seem to speak my doom

Context seems to show my gloom

      But the echoes lies
      Live in disguise
      and to my surprise

My breath sends out such morbid death

Yet pressure seems to leave my chest

Relieves the stress, unlike the rest

      Those sunny skies
      Those days of pleasure
      Conceal some lies
      With perfect weather

My thoughts of now sharing,
To those who are caring,
Of how I am faring,
These poems so blaring,
Of emotions raring,
It leaves me stuck staring

At a page
     Covered in bleeding ink

Looking at lies
Told by these eyes
Leaves no surprise
I live
    A Disguise