Writing From Hell

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 crime

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

I am

Writing from hell.


the fire

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