Writing for Self Salvation

Each sunrise highlights this ongoing battle of relapse and recovery In a world overruled by a constant roar of gunshots outside your window, It's hard to not check under your bed every night for monsters Once they slowly stopped playing hide-n-seek, The truth becomes clear And the ecstasy of my wandering childhood Erupts by the volcano of unwanted maturity As oozing lava melted over forgotten memories The gunshots hymn louder, No longer are they outside my window, But in the grasp of my ice cold fingertips Laced in the back of my throat Self destruction was never a part of the plan I write evaluate only then could I infuse rainbows and butterflies To create myself a nonexistent fairytale from a nightmare The space between the margins is the trench in my self inflicting war Here, I am not myself Here, I am not a monster The words flow through my soul as blood do my open veins Letters trickle down my tongue as it waits to take form of a hushed rhyme The air I breathe is known to be filtered by childish riddles The black ink of my pen paints a colorful picture on every page, Creating an incomplete masterpiece Outside the security of a pink like, My tongue refuses to twist to society's tune My fingertips do not dare to manipulate sentences to fit the status quo But my lifeless eyes see the significance of minor details Where as theirs do not In my writings, Words float as high in the clouds as birds Yet, I stay saddled behind metal and cement as a caged bird Neither's incarceration allow our wings to fully spread Hopelessly, I wait for the days when my sonnets are enough As for this night, My poems are the stars that highlight this on going battle of self pity and self hatred But even in their state, The truth becomes clear In a world overruled by a constant anger, And enough loathing to fill the state, I became a monster Overworked by relapsing and almost no recovery Only by the dim rays of a sunset, The truth shines I write to save myself from the monster I have become