Tales of Torment: Survival Tactics

as another day goes by,

another tale of torment is written‐

with what other way can i get by?

there's nothing else i have, nothing within

nothing more than a few words in my vocabulary‐

i really don't have anything more in me, but‐

still, new editions are added to this library

there seems to not be an end to this stream of letters i write,

relying on the ink in my pen to get me by‐

writing has become, for me, a survival tactic,

in a life where all times have turned drastic,

this "gift" has taken all of nothing that i have,

leaving nothing in my hands but dread grown to be existential,

as if suffering is just essential‐

void's company follows me around as if it were my own shadow

anguish, has fallen for me,

and refuses, to let go

likewise, agony has become attached to me,

it cannot survive without a vessel,

although, it has turned me hollow,

still, it has chosen me

as its survive tactic‐

and so, i have selected my pen

as my survival tactic

every experience, every regret, and every dangerous wish,

are woven into these,

tales of torment‐

each day, another is written

and as much as i'd like,

i simply cannot keep them hidden‐

each and every syllable i jot down

deserves to be read,

because not one drop of this ink is watered down‐

how can i let it all come to an end at what is merely the bottom of one page?

whether it be well or poor how they age,

what i describe as a survival tactic

certainly could be of some use to someone else... ‐can't it?

stories from a nothing but honest library,

with each day that passes, another book is written

shelves climb these walls to no limit

miles high, far beyond the reach of my eyes‐

this collection of ink is what i've been relying on,

with each and every day that goes on