89.

The octaves of my heart waves,

Are high on most days,

But on dark days,

My hearts says,

That it’s harsh grey.

So a sharp pain,

Is like a part daze,

Because my heart fades,

In a harsh way.

So I part ways,

In a calm phase.

In a warm maze,

My heart formed rage.

It gets hot days,

When I contemplate.

What I try to rave,

Is how my poems blaze.

What I’m not, made,

Me a sharp blade.

I thought of suicide on those dark days.

Now as I awake, I feel a blockade.

No more harmed days,

Life’s a mock stage.

And, I act strong

Because I must stay…

Reading no script,

I am just this.