DARK

I'm holding back from the pen,

Shrinking back in fear,

Fear that I may become the darkness I loathe.

The dark poet.

Cause the words in my head are:

Bad,

Sad,

Retard,

Hard,

Mad.

And the lines go,

Pain,

Insane,

Disdain,

Inhumane,

Vain.

Yet, I'm learning that without the pen

I indeed become those things

For without the warm ink,

The lonely nights are just that,

Lonely and dark.

© Natasha

#SAD