as a poet

i hide in the shadows

as a demon of sin

i hang from the gallows

as a adict to the bottle

i lay on the floor

as my heart begins to slow

i create art in words manifested from dark moments

i create

poetry of evil

poetry of heartbreak

poetry of death

and poetry of self

i write of times

or spit worthless rhymes

that seem to delay you

and pull you in

as i write of my present and past sin

even right now i sit in a dark closet of regret and sorrow

i sit alone in my own personal insitute

as i continuously talk to myself for hours without end

and write this redundant sort of art

always about some sort of trama

words eched with pain and tears

or how i walk alone on this road, paved with my fears

knife next to me with a pen in my hand

i wrap myself in a blanket of dark words right now

so that you may have some sort of window in this broken soul

and hope.....

the 5 people that actually read this

5 being generous to myself

will feel somewhat understood

   .

   .

   .

   .

 (o)

 / l \

 /  \