I write so my mind doesn't cave
like the caverns that have been neglected
after all the valuables were removed.
There is nothing in my head
but demons locked inside prison bars,
the treasures that I once took pride in were
dumped and sank to the ocean's floor,
only the ashes of happy memories
blanket the cold concrete.
Writing has opened a door to which I could
go back and enjoy what I used to have,
feel the air of freedom rush through my lungs,
have the light kiss my face again.
But every night I am reminded that that door
is nothing more than a daydream,
my writing is no match for the nightmares from hell,
and I continue to long for the day where I
no longer am drowning in despair.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Nobody
Poetry||Trigger Warning|| I write for no one and for everyone. I write the poetry that stung my tongue and poisoned my air. I write the poetry that tasted of sweet nectar and smelled of roses. I write for the past, for the future, and for the present I...
