Why I Write

Backstairs traipse ever down,

slow and fruitless winding

Colorless walls with shadows tall

are all that I am finding.

Trapped within this hidden void,

I creep among the black

A glimpse of air and freedom 

I am trying to get back.

There's nowhere I can run to,

nowhere I am alone

So I fall, I drop, into my mind

to search for a corner of home.

Once I slide into that place,

door slams and footsteps cease

The nightmare sounds and visuals

fade away to peace.

With just my words, my paper and pen,

the sole tools in my sight

I find I can smile once again

and this is why I write.