When I write,
I want everything to be right.
In my mind I strain to see the light but grow detached from insight.

Must curb frustration,
In strings of fate, I search for bliss
Towards the truth is where I aim,
But everyday I’m scared to miss.

In desperation,
Pillars of belief crumble to dust.
I strain for concise sight,
But my eyes stay shut to avoid the gust.

When I write,
I find hope in empty husks and shreds of salvation.
In dark nights,
A shining star my only consolation.