The Writer

He alone knows the truth
The pen carries his strength
The sheet of paper is his armor
With these he can conquer the world

Emotions stir like storm clouds
Flowing through the pen
Burning words into his mind
Slowly revealing the story

A constant battle no one can see
A bloody war between good and evil
Fought in the vast recesses
Of his broken mind

Demons and Angels trying to control
Every little shard of his shattered soul
And though it can’t be seen
Its slowly breaking him down

Sick of trying to be something
Everyone else wants him to be
So ready to give it all up
And be who he needs to be

One of the last few souls
An ever shrinking brotherhood
That is working to revive
The dying art of storytelling

The pen is his sword
Pulled from the stone
The ink is his blood
Taken straight from his heart



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