My poem to Edgar Allen Poe

This is the story of me,
a young girl with voices in her head,
voices wishing, she was dead. 

Voices that said die, bye,
lie in your bed,
and take your little meds.

She goes to the bars,
lays in the grass, 
and just stares at the stars, 
makes some more scars.

Pick up the blade,
it goes in,
slicing the skin,
the demon goes away then.

The demon came back
and he spoke
"hey young girl you know,
you’ll never be like your idol,
Edgar Allen Poe"

Edgar Allen Poe,
he knew how to show
his emotion, his feelings,
and the gain from his pain.

The demon had a rifle,
he had a knife,
and yes, he threatened to take my life.

I didn’t want to listen,
but that’s how I learned my lesson.
And that’s how I escaped from my demon named depression.