Ink & Flesh

Reading helped me escape

but writing kept me sane;

anchored, grounded–

Each word;

eloquent and descriptive language,

singular syntax, tantalizing diction,

cliffhangers that kept me on the edge–

When ink strikes parchment,

emotions leak from the blank ink pen,

blending and transforming

when salty tears mix with–

Plain, modern walls

Fade, wallpaper chipped, ruined,

Until it dissolves completely;

Transforming and molding

To the inner landscape in my mind,

Stark walls become tall trees

And the ceiling above–


A nude stratosphere,

smudged with vivid pinks and purples,

broken occasionally with strikes of lightening.

As a young girl,

I bloomed too early,

the righteous path to the light lost to me

and blossomed in the suckling, parasitic shadows–

But as my eyes open–

feasted upon a gargantuan book

bursting with wrinkled pages

filled with adventure;

and a blank notebook

who hungered for metaphysical

and tangible pain

of various depth and flavors–

I realized, that I was finally saved.

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