Tears pouring from my eyes
Those pieces of paper
You could see on the floor
Covered in poems
Were the medication
Which fell from my hands
When I wrote
What I had to write
When alone
The poetry was the one thing
That was used to self medicate
Pain relief
Even if it was just for a few moments
Using a pen
To relieve me of the burdensome
Inner turmoil
That wouldn’t leave
Until I released it somehow
Through death, rage or poetry
The only options
Which confronted me
As I sat in a pit of despair
I searched for a meaning
In a dictionary
Suffering in silence
Dying slowly inside
Poems were the pills
That kept me alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Intense! I love it! Piercing my heart.