On the Mend

I keep writing the words, hoping that they will help calm me
Down in some way or another that drives away the madness
And chaotic mess inside my head. There are thoughts that  
Keep festering and turning into something that was not there  
To begin with. Every once in a while I still get lost in the sea
Waves that feel like they are way over my head. The sadness
And heavy blanket feeling like maybe my heartbeat will flat  
Line someday soon, but some if not all of the words swear
 
To give me life. Poetry is the way to start over where no one
Knows me or my story. No one knows the days in which I did
Not want to get out of bed. But poetry has been there through
It all. It is my shield and armor when I need protection. It is
The revival of my broken heart and spirit. Poetry on the run
With me as I want to get away from my problems. It gets rids
The pain, even if it is just temporarily. It makes the sky blue
Again and gives live after all the fade outs, black outs or fizz.
 
Poetry knows my backstory and me, but does not judge. It is my  
Lifeline that never abandoned me. I carry it with me until I die.