My last poem described a hell.
I am under some kind of spell.
I am locked inside a Jail.
I am suffering, can you tell?
I cannot cry anymore.
My heart and mind is sore.
I want to walk off the shore, and fall deep inside the core.
Where it burns and dries my soul.
Because this world is way to cold.
Inflicted pain from myself and others.
Makes it hard for me to love again.
The only love I can barely give, is through notes I write through my pen.
Through keys and thoughts I put down.
Poetry is my savior.
I look for Jesus all around…
But he seems to be, busy, saving someone else.
I guess I am strong enough until he comes around to me.
We will see.