BlackCircleBlackCircle Charlotte, NCPosts: 288
edited September 2017 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
The first sensation was a blinking focus on my position.
The blinding light knocking on the back of my eyes.
The pool of black ink had reached the shore of the table threatening to conquer the floor.
Obviously, my attempt to shine a light on my darkness with a dagger tongue failed in a drunken blackout.

I'm left ruined by an ink pen, 
dry & inert.

Messages I recall,
in the way a child recalls a dream,
tell me I reached out to the devil offering my soul for sale. 
I'm like a tab
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