will carry me
to the grave –
I’m a slave
to my own wounds –
poetry once came
to my rescue;
but it sooner realized that;
if it were to set me free
from pain,
that would be
the death of it –
So it walked away –
after whispering
to my ears;
‘I am not God
I can never take
your pain away,
but I’ll always be a pen away
just incase you need
to talk” -: