Writing hurts

Writing hurts.
It's the only thing between me and my emotions.
How I really feel
cooped up inside my caged heart
knocking to get out
and I can keep it wrapped up deep inside
no one has to know
no one does know
until that writer in me
she aches to start again
she mindlessly puts her soul out for everyone to see
she picks up the pen
click clacks at the keyboard
and it all falls out
the black tarred heart that died long ago
the soul that has been scarred and bruised
the ego that doesn't exist
the faint scent of hope that she keeps in her heart
well, that lingers for her kids sake
and everything else is necrotic
dead
dying, if not yet.
and this disgusting task of writing
that makes it all come out
is one of the few things that keeps breathing
so that even when I don't
it will still exist.