Poetic Justice

Explaining my mind

My mind,
A beautiful place indeed,
Filled with beautiful flowers,
And dreams that stretch into towers.

My mind,
A dark place is what it is.
Somewhere there is a pit,
A pit filled with all the creatures,
Who try to pull me,
Down along into where they belong.

See,
At day,
It's a beautiful place,
With colorful paintings all around.
With clouds that can be carved,
And dreams,
That become real,
For even the slightest split second.
The opportunities are endless,
And the fears are non existent.

But, there's a problem,
At night,
When all goes to sleep,
My mind refuses.
And the same creatures who pull me
Into their pit,
Those creatures leave scratch marks,
Where the light belongs,
They push the tears,
Into a tighetened bottle,
And whisper things into my ear.

Things that make me cover my mouth
In horror,
That make me clutch onto my
Stomach,
For the fear of it dropping.
That make me grasp onto my hopes,
But I see them wither into dust.

During the light side of my mind,
The fond side,
The side that always seems,
To raise up the sides of my lips.
There's a place,
A place I call my home,
Where there is an empty room,
Only containing a desk and a chair.

Promptly sitting on the desk,
Is the luminous sight of a pen and a
Paper.
See,
This is the part of my mind,
Where I dictate what happens,
Where I decide what goes where,
Where I create my own future.

But the dark side of my mind,
The side I despise with all my might,
Is as soon as the clock strikes one,
I realise how alone I am,
But then suddenly,
I know I'm not.

The creatures that belong in the pit,
They come to me,
And grab the paper from my hands,
A paper that can change who I am,
The words are magical,
And writings are mystical.

Just as I expected,
The creatures stand before me,
And they slowly rip the paper,
As if to torment me anymore,
With their slow and brisk movements. My eyes drop to the ground,
As I realise,

That my mind is not controlled by me
Anymore.
It was never controlled by me,
Because those creatures,
Would destroy all I that had,
And all that meant something to me.

See,
Its havoc,
The pain,
Its like dirt rain,
As I explain,
My messed up mind,
To you.

I need not care for a World War 111
Any longer,
Because it already happened,
In the very core of my mind.

And guess who won?

~n.s