Depression Is Fuel

Broken glass.

Alone in class.

Need a way to make time pass.

A paper and pen.

Something starts to blend.

Beginning to feel heaven sent.

A poet is born from the abuse.

A poet is torn from the noose.

His heart is alone.

Especially in his home.

He uses this darkness,

This feeling of nothingness,

As fuel to his fire of desire.

He writes about his sorrows.

Only way to ensure he’ll stay alive till tomorrow.