This Poet You Call Poe

I fear the whispers feed my mind They tell me what to say For me the light is hard to find I wasn't born this way I hear and see those things long gone They help me with my craft Sometimes I write from dusk 'til dawn To get the perfect draft Sorrows stir within my veins As words begin to bleed No one tries to heal my pains So darkness intercedes A spirit torn without repair A curse upon this earth Severed from the things you share No more than afterbirth A poet with no will to live I care not where I go I've suffered more than I can give This poet you call Poe