These Words Aren't Weapons

What can I write and make rhyme, nostalgic for a different time, when I wrote before beneath such a dark cloud, I never thought I’d read them proud, but today I see them all once more once, thankful for what that dark was for.

You're not restless and you mind how you behave but that inner dialogue will dig an early grave. At the end of your working day you lay there on your bed you've finished all your work but not the fighting with your head. Exhausted with all the toil you decide that sleep is best although you closed your eyes dreams didn't grant you rest. When you wake in the morning you're already feeling weary and the thought of fighting demons has got you terrified and teary. The vicious cycle continues you want the voices all to cease so you you get some rest and finally be at peace.

You're not reckless and you mind how you behave but that inner voice of yours will dig an early grave

I use poetry she's there in my darkest hour ready to listen but when the sun starts shining I'm nowhere to be found until the storm clouds gather and I'm quickly embraced in her bosom telling her I love her.

'Hello darkness my old friend' They're the lyrics usually sung but it's more like an old hand on a shoulder of someone young A whisper that's says don't make a sound, don't tell it feeds on our inaction and condemns us all the hell. The darkness isn't so scary when you're standing in the light it's beautiful to look outside but different to walk out in the night. Don't be friends with the darkness it's like a tiger that hides it teeth You wouldn't paddle in its waters if you knew what lay beneath. Though do not run away and pretend to not to see or smell or hear do not ignore the good people who are ensnared and trapped in there. Instead let us take our torches be a search party for those people let us find them chained and release them from the evil The darkness is no friend not of you and not of me It is at its darkest when we close our eyes and do not see.

I see a smoking gun has the end begun or are my scars altering how I feel changing what is real filling a brain up with old pain old memories old fears or is this experience if so let it be over quickly bring on the smoking gun because eventually I'll spit that lead out.

I'm everything you said I was but years has passed since then. It must of been a premonition because I'm sure I wasn't like that, was I? Did you just know better? Or just what I would become? You were right.

Lead lungs in an iron chest trap me on my bed thoughts racing through my head. Wanting drugs to ease my pain to numb my brain but this is no hospital. No Doctors, or diagnosis close. No angel of death or fatal dose.

Falling, Failing, Flailing. My head below the wave but I sink gracefully mournfully, peacefully to my watery grave.

We all diagnose and medicate ourselves pulling answers from drug filled shelves we blag our way to good mental health but we’re lost in the lies that we tell ourself trapped in a maze not knowing where to turn just waiting alone for the world to burn.

There's a dead bird in my rib cage or maybe it's my heart all I know, it doesn't sing a song or beat its wings just decaying flesh in a calcium cage letting time do its job