Prescribed Poetry

Evil whispers cloud my thoughts, attacking my mind, trying to control my decisions, some battles lost, many more won.

I’m not dead, I’ve contemplated death. Murder once or twice crossed my mind, my conscious fought the calls with guilt from my heart. 

I should be locked up, if I acted on just one voice but I never did. Poetry forced the voices to be gone, that’s the truth!

For those that cannot understand how someone could do the most punishable crimes… I know I can, because when you are mentally sick, sometimes nothing makes sense but everything does! 

Wether it’s a demon, or just a chemical imbalance, or built up trauma, these instances are as real as any other health condition!

Poetry is my medicine and I know for a fact has saved lives!