I Looked Around and I Wrote This

I find myself sinking in quicksand,

Gripping and clutching with my last free hand.

Could this be my final stand?

Here in this barren land

Oh, oh my death would be so, so grand.

 

They threw me into a dark well,

Chained me up, a dog in a cell,

Pushed me down to bloody hell,

In the damp where I now dwell

But I knew, even as I fell

I strived, I struggled, I fought well.

 

My hands and my heart are always at war.

There is nothing on this Earth I will ever kneel before

No man, No bear, No boar,

Whatever creature stands on this floor

There is always a crack, a window, a DOOR.

 

Raw humanity

Deep inside of me

The last few threads of sanity

Keep a hold of me,

 

My very own ropes coiled tight in this mind

Can barely bind

Can barely close my eyes, blind

Can barely leave me crippled behind.

 

With every last ounce of might

I fight

With every last ounce of might

I ignite

With every last ounce of might

I am alight

With every last ounce of might

I finish this poem. I write. I write. I write.

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