What you know can kill you.

I'm broken, hurt, dead, splintered and I feel like crying.
I can't write poetry. But is there any harm in trying?

I've been working on some things and I've been giving my best.
But It's like a chain of broken rings with a key to no chest.

I'm upset. I'll forget. I'll detest. I'll suppress.
But I'm dead. I'll regret. Can't protest. It's just stress.

I'm possibly nowhere, and possibly nothing.
I'm probably over, and probably disgusting.

I can't seem to think, I can't even try.
As long as I blink, I can't even die.
It's true, though I
Don't think I would survive
In a world like this.
With demons alive.

No one's a demon. The demon's within.
Anonymous hate? Who are we kidding?
No screaming, no shouting.
No snapchat, no pouting.
Just stress and just pain.
My feelings, I'm doubting.

I know that I sound like Satan's sex slave.
If luck's not on my side, I cannot behave.

I know I'll be upset, though just for a while.
Can't help it. Can't tell shit. Clean me with phenyle.

Ignore this. It's not me. It's is just the broken, solitary, mask I'm wearing.
We all have this mask within, but only some of us know the weight of this bearing.

Bliss, kindness and love can fill you.
what you don't know, can also kill you.