Self-made
Cancerous agent in my vein, constaintly tormenting my brain. A drug it's not, or ill disease, but a painful truth, that can not be eased. I look at myself from outside first. My body grows as though to burst. Self control no longer a choice A prision to my inner voice. Promises made to never keep, but ease the soul so for to sleep. My outter shell I no longer fit, A new layer I am forced to knit. I glance to myself, inside out. I shut off the anger and open a spout. My inner me is shiny gold, refused to fit into a mold. It shines through every open hole, letting others see into my soul. But being a prisoner inside my mind makes inner enlightenment hard to find. For I see only what I can from my cell, trying hard to break free from this self made hell.

--Daryl Molen

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