Verses of my own.
I know that I am struggling, but that isn't the only thing. The only thing that makes up me.
My desire to be set free. Free from the prison of my own mind. Why can't I be kind?
Feeling insignificant and lost like a fly in the sky. Gusts throwing me to and fro, trapping me with no place to go.
A slave to myself, to my emotions. To my fear, to my panic, to the monsters in my attic.
Delusions in the dark, with fangs and claws, they snuff out every spark.