Why I Write Dark Poetry, By A Lonely Man

Why I Write Dark Poetry, By A Lonely Man

I write because the silence screams,

Because the night will not release,

Because the thoughts inside my head,

Refuse to grant a moment’s peace.

There is a storm beneath my skin,

A thousand voices claw and fight,

And ink becomes the only way,

To drag them bleeding into light.

I sit alone with paper thin,

A pen that shakes within my hand,

Each word a wound I carve myself,

In hopes that someone understands.

The world feels distant, cold and strange,

Like I am watching from afar,

A man who never quite belongs,

A shadow shaped by hidden scars.

I do not write for praise or gold,

Nor gentle words that soothe the soul,

I write because the dark inside,

Would swallow me if left in control.

Each line a truth I dare not speak,

Each verse a scream I cannot hide,

A fragile bridge between my mind,

And all the pain I keep inside.

They ask me why it’s always dark,

Why every page is filled with grief,

But light has never stayed with me,

And hope has always been too brief.

So I will write until I fade,

Until my voice is stripped and bare,

For if I stop, then I am lost,

And nothing waits for me out there.

This is my curse, this is my truth,

A lonely man with words to bleed,

For darkness is the only place,

That ever felt like home to me.

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