My pen is a simply harpoon that I use too often

The people who loath paper work a scoff in

They say they hate what I stand for, why do it?

I shrug instead of explaining and just quit

But inside I think: my soul is trapped inside

I release the darkness like a riptide

It is a water that can only escape through my pen

It keeps me from reality wants again

What's dreadful to you is lifesaving to me

I can become anyone else I would rather be

Someone without a constant depression

Someone who lacks my aggression

And writing means so much to me

There is nothing else I would rather see

But instead of explaining, I shrug with my pen

Then, I use my harpoon to flee back again