Writer's Limbo
Happiness coats my
Skin-covered skeleton and
I have
so
many
words.
Loss and hate and suicide
Fill my page, my pen a
Numb tube of blood,
And I feel nothing.
Subconscious digs for feelings and
Out comes the fossil with
Not so much as a nudge,
But the heart doesn’t feel what the
Head thinks it knows.
So much to say of the
Death of a friend or the
Destruction of hope or the
Drug addiction--
Pulses of heroin laced in
Sentences,
Stanzas,
Lines.
Fake words flow with
The lack of mercy
Real life never shows.
Then the ego turns as
Black as the id and the words
Evaporate; the blood
Seeps into the lines and
Out of organization.
And into the reality-induced
Lapse of thought I dive;
No story existing,
No plots alive.
The corpse in front of me is real--
Dead is dead and I can’t
Unwrite the absence I feel.
Curse the blood in the curséd pen;
It’s sunken into my skin
And I don’t have
any
words for
anything
anymore.
Skin-covered skeleton and
I have
so
many
words.
Loss and hate and suicide
Fill my page, my pen a
Numb tube of blood,
And I feel nothing.
Subconscious digs for feelings and
Out comes the fossil with
Not so much as a nudge,
But the heart doesn’t feel what the
Head thinks it knows.
So much to say of the
Death of a friend or the
Destruction of hope or the
Drug addiction--
Pulses of heroin laced in
Sentences,
Stanzas,
Lines.
Fake words flow with
The lack of mercy
Real life never shows.
Then the ego turns as
Black as the id and the words
Evaporate; the blood
Seeps into the lines and
Out of organization.
And into the reality-induced
Lapse of thought I dive;
No story existing,
No plots alive.
The corpse in front of me is real--
Dead is dead and I can’t
Unwrite the absence I feel.
Curse the blood in the curséd pen;
It’s sunken into my skin
And I don’t have
any
words for
anything
anymore.