I started writing poetry because I felt vulnerable,
because I was sensitive,
because I believed,
I fancied myself a madman,
possessed by an inspiration divine,
and I'm still convinced.
I just don’t know if it's true.
I’ve lied to myself so many times it's hard to know,
just what is driving this pen across the page.
I've entertained my narcissism,
w/ a courtesy any lover would respect,
felt my soul rot, my teeth fall out,
and I’ve taken so many drugs,
it’s impossible for me to sleep at night.
Everybody has problems I have tried to express,
with bad karma and guilt, my repressed anger turns to fear;
Everything is a threat,
I can’t seem to get under the surface...
I can’t seem to get under the surface...
...but when I write, I feel protected.
