My poems hide deep in my brain. The darkest part where there is no light. The part that screams when I want to cry, and bawls like a baby when I want to die. It's the part that laughs and calls me names, but helps me out when I'm in pain.
The part that wanders and makes me weak, yet makes me think when I want to sleep. I try to pull when it drags me down. For some odd reason it thinks it's a clown. It throbs and hurts when it has hit a spot, but it can never hit it right on the dot. It is the one that drives me crazy, but tends to want to act like a baby.
