my weapon of protection

a pen can be much more than that, a tool, a weapon, a savior

the pen is mightier that the sword they say

but it is truly mightier that the razor blade

in a world so bleak it is the word that saves

where fingers gag and wounds still bleed,

it is the pen which can set me free

with my skin bruised and left with scars

writing still can soothe my heart

ripping out my hair and computer keys

but broken pencils still write stories

somehow still, in my torrid of hate

my pen and i, we still create

i find that life and writing both devour me

but yet the latter can soothe me still

for when art devours, you can find skill

when the beasts and monsters come

to a notebook i always run

and when the beast is one living inside 

within my words i find a place to hide

safe from voices in my head

safe from thoughts that which me dead

and in these letters i begin to breathe

and for the first time i don’t deceive 

honest about the pain and you

of falling in love and rejection from you

but your power is nil against that of my pen

stuck within paper instead of my head

your face leaves my dreams and your voice leaves my head

and finally i stop praying for death

they say that on paper you and i could be grand

but i write on my paper and out run your quick sand

you cannot pull me in or drown me in you

with my pen-sword in hand i will no longer be used

and now as my cries scream out in the night

i have myself a savior, whom i can grip tight

clasped in my fingers and held in my hand

my pen, my defibrillator

starts my heart again