Its light outside
But all i see is black
The demons behind me
knives in my back

they are swirling in darkness
gathering in masses
burning my soul
to a pile of ashes

with no where to run
no home to hide
no one to help me
surely i'll die

There is no comfort in death
for the mentally sane
and yet for some reason
i'm drawn to this pain.

i feel so alone
in a room full of friends
their stories expand
where as mine ends.

There are no more pages
in this novel of mine
the ink has ran red
writing its last line

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