How's this sonnet?
Tomorrow's Sonnet.
The dark,dank room full of endless despair,
he calls,but old memories are just there.
Fingers play a tune on a razor's edge,
cuts his arms, used as reality's wedge.
Smash a fist against jagged metal,hurts,
feeling alive as the blood vessels spurt.
Ghostly voices within his auguished brain,
never liked crazy talk,he's the one sane.
Fighting never ends on his upward climb,
meshing gears grind inviting thoughts sublime.
He rhymed now feels the heat subsiding some,
for the present he knows that he has won.
Tomorrow's sonnet,proves no one should lose,
it all depend on the road that we choose.
The Bannibal One Dec.8.2017@
byeeexxx...
by 
TBO
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