Why I Write

August 16, 2013

The pain grabs my throat,

cutting off the one thing I need

every day. Air.

I lock myself away, trying to hide.

Hoping the pain will cease.

Tears come racing down my face.

I'm curled up against the wall,

hoping arms will come out

to comfort me. They don’t.

The tears are coming harder;

I turn on some music,

but quickly turn it off.

It's too happy for my mood.

I’m running out of things

to wipe my tears on.

Wiping my tears one last time,

get up and unlock the door.

I sit down at my computer

and with every word I write

my despair slowly desolves.

A few tears still escaped from the cages that

I kept them in, but it was better.

The pain loosened its grip, and

Air rushed into my lungs.

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