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…