Journal to death

Write maniacally to externalize your
thoughts, emotions and bitter-thick conclusions.
Scorch the blackness out of your soul
through written words like exorcising a demon from a possessed body.
We use lenses to see the world,
lenses that make the world
bright enough to hurt one’s eyes,
that makes the world colorful,
or stripped to its elements;
lenses that make people
wholesome and happy,
or coal-black and awful.
Journal it all,
cleanse your lens or change it
as you can’t unwear it unless you are asleep.
Write until your
physicality drops its shell
until you are covered in black ink,
and your perpetual
low-level anxiety stops hissing
as you have been repressing your poor, hungry-child of a soul.
Write
until your wrists
are torn to pieces
and dissolve into the pages,
the pages that invite You
to clothe your century-long
muffled screams.