Late at Night

On a cold and damp night,
the silence is only broke by the darkness,
the feeling of loneliness compels me,
my words are my only friends,
and the poems that live inside of my head,
they are my only serenity,
the television playing some forgotten t.v. show
and my radio blasting out my metal music, 

as I look out into the dark of the night,
thoughts start to go around inside of my head,
wondering why I'm here and what's my purpose, 
if I try to touch the darkness will it suck me in,
or will I just fall right through it,

I can smell the burning of my lead,
as I write this down in my notebook,
it feels like my fingers are on fire,
and that my mind has become free again,
just like my darkness that once lived in my soul,

Late night when my words are my only friend,
where my poetry is my only salvation,
I've opened up a door to my own utopia,
opened a door up into another life I never knew I had, 
Late at Night is when I feel free and that I can almost do anything,
this is my high,
this is my drug, 
this is my life,