There are things

There are things,

Deep down inside.

Many srange unusual ombions,

That take away my stride

They pull and tug,

At my heart.

Forcing me all over again,

To drop and fall apart.

Deep echoing whispers,

Fill my head.

They ring on and on…

Making me wish i was dead.

There are things,

Controlling my thoughts.

Keeping them deadly,

I find i hard not to keep a smile,

And fall way apart.

They grasp my neck,

And choke me out of breath.

One more inhale…..

Greeting unseen results,

Like using hardcore meth.

Deep shallow water,

Drowning my eyes..

I tried to keep it in,

But i couldn’t hold the hide.

There are things,

That make me who i am.

As a person so dead inside,

I march my final stand.

Welcoming the pain,

And pushing away all good.

What is to come of me?

I am of hollow wood.