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.