A Poet's Addiction

My quill bleeds out thick, black blood Staining the papyrus ripped beneath my light pressure of cold, heavy emotions The stick of the ink scorched on my skin Offers me liberating relief Put me back down, it whispers it whispers, so sweet But it's chained to my hand it will never see rest Crying, sobbing rivers of soft regret Relief is unseen anger wanting sleep, wanting freedom Alarming, small voice in my head, seek help, please Stop this mourning Trapped inside its shallow ink heart is the knowledge, the fear, I am addicted It's far too late knowing, not wanting to believe That I'm gone, I've left, through the old, worn gate... Now I'm trapped in this field of crying, sleepy daisies This meadow of false hope A tired, scary wasteland of cruel, twisted jokes And I won't lie I desperately want out but I can't cry, can't stop the flow My pen is now broken and so is my newfound outcry of poor, sad emotion.