The words come from a dark place,
on a normal day they do not come.
The only place I can be is in darkness.
Why do words only come from my dark place?
Why can I not bring them from happiness?
Why is the only way I can create is through dark?
Why is this peom so much harder to write?
Why is creation is most beautiful from dark?
Darkness must be my one true friend.
Song and word mean the most to me,
but they cannot come from good times.
My art is sorrow brought forth from darkness.
It must be time to befriend the dark.