→ Keeping Quiet ←

The broken anxiety of a silent page

Utterly terrified by a blank white sheet

Where did my worth go?

Questioning my sanity 

while the demons claim to be the louder echo

The pressure is unbearable

The dream of a poet lies dormant

with each passing moment my lips are stitched shut

It's my job to cut the cord

My job to scream back 

and my job to hold it so tight that my bloody knuckles tare out of my skin 

To let the burn become more then an aspiration 

It becomes a purpose