Flames shoot up around me
Though I throw a blanket around me for warmth.
Solitude is my prison
Fortitude is my virtue.
Grab the nearest pen to me
The pad of paper I keep laying on my bed.
I make only a note of how I want it to end
Then allow my mind to go completely blank.
Writing is my catharsis
The only release valve
On the bomb that is me.
Though I know only some will understand
A small fraction will ‘get it’ really
I write anyway.
To me, that small fraction is everything
They are the ones that make my passion worthwhile
The reason I don’t mind spending my life in prison.
My huge and unforgivable crime
Is that I am difficult to traverse
Complex and difficult to tame.
I lose myself in that write
I become it.
Every single time I write
Writing from hell.
Great poem. Sometimes I feel like that when I write as well.