Thursday, March 20, 2014

~~Black Scarf~~

My muse
Is
Fading...
Words
Are
Fading.
I clutch at
Nothing,
And try to pretend
Like
I'm not sliding
Off the cliff.
Am I falling
At all?
Do I write
When
I feel alive,
Or do I
Feel alive
Only when I write?
Which is which?
How do I
Decide
The pain
I prefer?
"Pick your poison."
What if
Even
The cure
Is the poison?
What if
My hands
Are destroyed?
What if it
Drives me
Over the edge
I am dancing upon?
What if my
Writing
Returns
To being
My demon?
What will save me
When
I can't even
Understand
How
To
Breathe
Anymore?
I can't breathe
Without
Tasting
Ink
Instead of blood.
My world
Is stained
Black
And spattered with
Red and blue--
The drug in me
Is my muse.
My black
Scarf
Wraps around my neck--
Maybe it
Will hide
What I've left behind?
Maybe it
Will hide
The bitemarks
From when I
Sold my soul
For
The love
Of
Words.

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I love you, random stranger. Thanks for dropping by, and for dropping a line. --Half Mad Writer