Anatomy of a poem.

It's up to you isn't it? Also, how come I cannot post in forums? =[

Dear diary,
I've lived by your
means, I've praised
and sacrificed myself
to your "glory".

Dear diary of mine,
your pages are knives
in my back, as I bleed
your being and I excuse
your corruption.

As my blood steams into smoke,
burning messages in my mind,
I inhale the pain and exhale
your mind. Breathing your
life.

I collapse,
Dear diary,
I love you, I need you,
I stand, right here, beside you.
Aching to write my excommunicated
thoughts and emotions.

Diary, my pain is in your name
and my life within your pages.
Your influence is in my chest
and I'll die for you,

My need to write.

Author's Note

But about how writing can bring pain and defects. Also an explaination to why, I/we, write. I guess. Does that fit?