What I love about writing

is the total control

you have on a reader

and their life as a whole.

You can take them on mountains

or down deep dark wells.

You can make them feel happy

or take a trip through hell.

It's like your very own journey

where you call the shots.

They're along for the ride

trying to connect the dots.

They fall in love with your words

even the saddest of lines.

So you write more for them

always tightening your binds.

You have strings that attach

to the strongest of wills.

They love all the emotions-

they're the cheapest of thrills.

Even now as you read

each line of this poem,

I've taken your mind

and made it my home.

My rhythm now hums

in the roots of your soul.

I am your master.

You're mine to control.

They live on this Earth just like you and me,

but hide underground where we cannot see.

With a gate well hidden under water and stone,

they have taken quite well to being alone.

But once in a while their leader declares

that their tribe will expand with a few new heirs.

They open the gate and wait nearby

for the unlucky few who will soon die.

The loss of a life for a greater prize

is what you will see behind their eyes.

A curse or a blessing-its up for debate,

but you don't have long to choose your fate.

Before you know you are there,

the air,

it's strange.

You're wading in water,

but no,

its changed.

There's snow on the ground,

and ice,

it's cold.

In just a few more steps,

there's trees

so old.

You're in a desert

so dry,

you die.

And then you awake.

And you are scared.

And completely

unprepared.

I can't take it anymore. The yelling, fighting, cussing, spitting, and hitting. The hatred in this house has seeped into the floors like a pool of blood dripping through the cracks into the darkened basement. So many lies and secrets are hidden down there. It's been an eternity and I still struggle with the everyday reality of it. The only reprieve is when you are home. The others all quiet down when you walk in the door. I don't know if they are afraid or if they are jealous. I am neither. In fact, I love you. You are my only friend. I find peace and solace in your presence and have often taken to following you around. I talk to you and at times, it seems like you are listening, and that for a moment, I'm not dead.

It only happens when you're not here. I have to relive the agony of being locked away in a house full of tormented souls who are both too stubborn to cross. Instead, they battle each day, and it's just as gruesome as the last day we were all alive. At the end of it all, I have to watch as the anger turns towards me. I have to watch as I die again and again and again.

I can't wait for you to come home.