Each sunrise highlights this ongoing battle of relapse and recovery
In a world overruled by a constant roar of gunshots outside your window,
It's hard to not check under your bed every night for monsters
Once they slowly stopped playing hide-n-seek,
The truth becomes clear
And the ecstasy of my wandering childhood
Erupts by the volcano of unwanted maturity
As oozing lava melted over forgotten memories
The gunshots hymn louder,
No longer are they outside my window,
But in the grasp of my ice cold fingertips
Laced in the back of my throat
Self destruction was never a part of the plan
I write evaluate only then could I infuse rainbows and butterflies
To create myself a nonexistent fairytale from a nightmare
The space between the margins is the trench in my self inflicting war
Here, I am not myself
Here, I am not a monster
The words flow through my soul as blood do my open veins
Letters trickle down my tongue as it waits to take form of a hushed rhyme
The air I breathe is known to be filtered by childish riddles
The black ink of my pen paints a colorful picture on every page,
Creating an incomplete masterpiece
Outside the security of a pink like,
My tongue refuses to twist to society's tune
My fingertips do not dare to manipulate sentences to fit the status quo
But my lifeless eyes see the significance of minor details
Where as theirs do not
In my writings,
Words float as high in the clouds as birds
Yet, I stay saddled behind metal and cement as a caged bird
Neither's incarceration allow our wings to fully spread
Hopelessly, I wait for the days when my sonnets are enough
As for this night,
My poems are the stars that highlight this on going battle of self pity and self hatred
But even in their state,
The truth becomes clear
In a world overruled by a constant anger,
And enough loathing to fill the state,
I became a monster
Overworked by relapsing and almost no recovery
Only by the dim rays of a sunset,
The truth shines
I write to save myself from the monster I have become