just a word

but not without many layers.


Struggle, something I face daily

lying on stained sheets

heavy smoke in the air

reeking of dipsomania

feelings bottled in.


They say talking helps

they say writing helps

but what do you do

when the words

don’t find a canvas anymore?


The lonely existence

cuts me off of the world

the overthinking patterns

multiply like snow in a snowball.


Yet, lucky was I

because that’s when it struck

I finally could let it all out

abusing the innocent sheets

better them than me

for my words are now immortalized.


I still overthink

I still make mistakes

but now I have something

which won’t let me

fall into that trap again.


I now have my inspiration

protecting me

like a subnivium.