Free-flowing thoughts come more not, than often.
Opposite of the norm, it's the bleak that I'm lost in.
Robbed a mind once, so my dreams can be conquered.
Could've taken the easy path, but took the darker one offered.
Compelling to think, who else would've bothered?
An artist on the brink, words are lamb to the slaughter.
Turn this harmless set ink and paper to the murder of a father.
I am one in the same, not a hero but a martyr.
Maybe it'll change, or this is just a starter...
