My Weapons, My Battles

The quieter I am online,

The more I write.

Write,

my hand

by which

I write.

My pen.

The tool of

my Art —

No trade for me.

I write

because

I love it.

Because the

Words

FIGHT

their own

way

out of me.

When I

Stifle them,

Do not allow

them

their own voice:

the demons

of depression

and despair

only grow louder

in my head.

The unwritten words

fester

and ROT

and eat

at my happiness

with

the acid

of their

discontentment.

Until depression

becomes dismay,

and tears fill

once happy

eyes

A smile

no more.

Face,

free of the

lines of laughter

and holes

called dimples;

become

a salt flat of flesh.

Be gone

young demons —

I have fought

MANY a fight

with older

and mightier

than thou!

My Pen

swift be

my sword —

If it

be not

quick enough —

mine fingers

shall soon

have a more

virulent weapon

against ye!

a keyboard

shall

soon arrive!

Swift be

the fingers

that shall

slay these

demons —

Like those

before them!

Depression –

Despair –

Demons of my Dreams –

Be gone from ME

I seek Divinity!!!!

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