When I write, I don't it for the likes.
I don't do it for the acknowledgement.
I do it for the person alone.
In house that is not home,
With cold steel pressed against the dome.
That feeling is all to familiar
Drowning in thought of suicide.
Welcome to the darkest hour
Soft spoken and hesitant,
I put the pen to paper and let the ink bleed in.
It speaks with the passion of a thousand men.