Everyone’s not fine.

kool

I used to write words that rhymed,

And found freedom in what others confined,

yet all the words have left me behind,

They used to be fluid but the faucets ran dry.

Spitting lines onto paper, hoping that later,

They might be of use, be the Lord to my Savior.

How obtuse was I, being blinded by lies,

A rouse from the demons, whom played behind my eyes.

Occasionally they used to seep, from the teardrops that leaked.

They were the screaming signs, that I was not fine.

They were the wolves and I was the sheep.

They ripped into me with their teeth.

Leaving nothing behind but the stink,

From the body that laid lifeless by the kitchen sink.

No man left behind was just a lie,

Said by the same demons who told me to die.

So I took the rhyme and converted it.

To one more pill of free will,

The demons said I deserved it.

I used to write words that rhymed,

And found freedom in what others confined,

But the all the words left me behind,

They used to be fluid but,

t   h    e

f  a   u   c  e  t

r  a  n

 dry.

//imitation of the daily pain I see// 

-h.f.

 

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