You brought it upon yourself,
Should have expected the outcome,
Ain't not good enough to be love,
You are just another ****

Fighting my demons are always hard
For they have the poet's mind
That lured me in their metaphors of
the taste of the sun
or the comfort of solitude

They pull me in between their lines of
Desperation and depression
As if basking in the sunlight will make it less empty

They tangle me in the swirl of the words
Embracing me with each broken thorn of a flower,
or every drizzle of the rain, or every blanket of snow
or the feel of the breeze
As if those imagery
will make it less painful;
Written in papyrus with the ink as thick as blood and teardrops on the footnotes
As if those drops can lessen the burden that clutches my chest

They envelope me with every space
in between their words
as if letting me breathe
but then they enter
cutting the peace in between letters
but never putting a period
to end this miserable excuse for a poem
they made me

It's all a hallucination
An endless illusion
for in the end
I'm still chained,
existing with this void inside
and with my demons
Eating the life out of me

Then suddenly pressing save
for all the world to see
without even really
saving me

you do not lull me
with your calming waves no more.
My body splinters, crashing
upon these nubs of jagged rocks.
I'm a floating piece of driftwood
that reached an empty shore.
The blazing sun, a leather whip
beats down ******* me.
Embedded in the tawny grains of sand
I lie awake so stark.
I'm ravaging. A stiff board
filled with empty holes
by scavenging birds that stripped away
all my protective bark.
When the lonely tide pulls up
to meet a crescent moon
I'll know my time has come to naught.
This piece of driftwood
will float into a salty watered grave
and leave its resting dune.

They say the eyes are the window to a persons soul
So why am I misjudged for a dark one
If they can truly see what’s my soul
They would not spit and run
For what’s inside is gold