My Sanctuary

There is a little corner in my room

that is demonless and ghost free

No matter if it is night or noon

It it is where I like to be

All this corner has to its name

is a small white bookshelf

It has its own demons to claim

But none of them pertain to myself.

The first and top shelf holds what I do not know

The second one holds what I will read again

The third holds the places I love best to go

They’re as close to me as a dear friend

But the fourth shelf is a prison and sanctuary

A prison for the ghosts that haunt me

A prison for the demons that destroy me

And a Sanctuary for me.

The fourth shelf is full to the very page

of the thoughts I dream at night

full of pain, sacrifice, poison, rage

Full of the songs I sing, and the battles I fight.

They are where I lock my demons

They’re what I chain my failures to

They are the repository for my sins.

They are only notebooks to you.

But they are my sanctuary

My only respite

from the failures that haunt me

from my own spite.




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