Poetry

 
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I let the ink sedate my mind when the pen glides/
Watching it's path ride and napalm tides that grip
floods from disasters of life, as it rapture my gripes/
Taking flight when my eyes melt into the abyss
between notebook lines, blank as the summer sky/
Inhaling it's untold stories, the only time I get high/
Scorching trees through metaphors/
An arson indeed when life attacks like Venusaur/
As long as poetry got a heartbeat, I'm blessed
with abundant sources to vent/
Living life with overpriced resentment, I can
finally pay off the rent/
It's surreal to think this art form blessed the tongue
to speak murals/
Every taste bud is a work of art like sculptures of a pharaoh/
I rock this art parallel to the chest cavity/
Like the medallion of King Tut, my canvas shine eternally/
Unapologetic when jotting ink, atomically/
Feeling the spirit of Socrates explode within my being,
exuding philosophy/
As I take it's essence to metaphorically escape reality/
Where my demons can no longer reach the potential
to destroy me, thank you, poetry!