.........And Then Their Was Hope

When life feels like a prison,
How the hell am I suppose to break out?
Do you grab a bottle of pill,
Or drink to you're out?
I do neither,
Pick the pen up,
To write litters,
Volumes or gallons,
Whatever you fathom,
Till I pass out,
Or till their is no one left to have them,
What are words but mere weapons,
What are weapons if you can't use 'em,
I use my weapons so much,
I abuse 'em,
Reuse the same ones daily,
If I'm lucky,
Use 'em so much,
My words just cut me,
Some things I say hurt,
But I need you to understand what it's worth,
I could of swallowed a bottle,
And ended it that way,
Instead I picked up a pen,
Wrote till the end,
Just to keep breathing,
Just to keep believing....