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Personal Note:

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Poem

"Hey, how are you?", "good how was your day?",
talking to myself, that's just a game i like to play,
stuck in this 6X6 cell, the ins and outs of everyday,
so i spend my time trying to get myself to go away
 
letting my mind go astray
 
it's collecting garbage quickly like a writers ashtray,
I know I'm going crazy but I think I'll be okay,
no help in defeating the demons kept at bay,
i feel oncoming loss, unshakable dismay
 
looking for the control room or maybe just a fuse,
thoughts of giving up, repeating "whats the use?",
but i must find a way to turn it on, free my mind from it's recluse,
so i can once again ponder the profound and obtuse
 
running through the halls, walls in electric currents,
trying to keep focused, writing for transference,
I stop, collecting thoughts that are floating in my presence,
finding all the words that will illuminate my essence.

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