My words aren't pretty, they are dark and deep
Writing these things is what helps put them to sleep.
My thoughts aren't poetic or full of delight
Just a bunch of sad art that thrives on the dark of night
The pictures I paint come from a heavy heart
The hurt comes out first when ever my thoughts start.
The pain leaves first and lights the way for these demons to follow
After they leave if gives a chance for the good inside to fill up what is hallow.
Maybe one day I'll write away all the hurt and pain
Maybe one day brightness is what my work will gain.
If all the dark is gone and the light has a chance to show,
Will I have anything left to write, I don't think I'll ever know.