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William de klerk Apr 2018
Let me set fire to the tip of my pencil
And use it as a candle
To light this dark room.

Let the fuel I pour
Be the very writing
That burns me
So I don’t have to close my eyes.

Let the torch I hold that scares
The monster lurking in my mind
Warm my cold thoughts.

As I hold my breath and sink
In a room filling with water.

The price of warmth ...
                  Is the little air I have left.

Please don’t leave me
In this cold dark room
With hope extinguished.

So I claw at a locked door
With a burning piece of wood
As I slowly drown in a cold dark room.

Trapped in here
With myself.

Sometimes we lock ourselves away in our thoughts . We become so lost we are desperate not to be trapped alone with our own dispair. This feeling is suffocating and you cling to anything to stay afloat. The straw I chose to grab at is poetry

— The End —