The layers overlay,

It makes me over-pray.

The difference of dimensions,

Signifies the truth of this existence.

Existence is an utter mystery,

That frightened me in the days.

At nights I quietly lay,

But heightened voices over play.

And I cannot sleep, as I once used to.

So in mornings, I write with utter truth.

I say to myself, I cannot let my demons utterly rule you.

But in actuality what must I do?

Is writing my utter duty?

To express with my heart and mind,

To neglect, these dark demons of mine.

I shine forth with clarity of words.

I move through the tunnel of truth, darkness, and youth with these disparity of words.

Always light and beautiful on paper,

But in reality, I suffer.

Please heaven doors, lift your gate up.

And lift me up from under.

I wonder, am I worth these sparrows?

Am I worth this agony of curse?

Because love is like a chore, and I understand if I am God.

But I need you at times, because the devil wants to rob…

So I write like it’s my job,

Creating love with words;

Art and significance,

Satisfying my soul’s urge…