The Tortured Poets Department

In the stillness of night, upon her bed,

Lies a tortured poet, thoughts in her head.

Words swirl and dance, a chaotic rhyme,

Echoing through the corridors of time.

Each line a battle, a soul's travail,

As she seeks solace, but to no avail.

In the labyrinth of her mind, she's confined,

To the shadows where her musings unwind.

With each verse penned, a piece of her soul,

A tale of anguish, her heart's parole.

Yet amidst the pain, there's a beauty rare,

In the melodies of her despair.

For within the torment, there's a spark,

A glimmer of hope in the endless dark.

And though the journey may seem unkind,

She finds solace in the rhythm of her mind.

So, let the tortured poet's words resound,

In the symphony of silence, profound.

For in her verses, there's a truth untold,

In the depths of her rhymes, a story unfolds.