Jan 08


The words are laughing at me.
I can hear them, tumbling out of the walls
And dripping onto the paper
Yet never in the right way,
Almost as if they are here
Only to insult me
To drive me mad
Until I have nothing left but 
The words which killed me.
The "once upon a time"
That sits on my tongue
And yet never finds its way into my pen
Is breathing down my neck
And into the lungs of my first word.
The colors are taking hold of the lines
And the curves
Of this torture device we call language,
And I spill the blood of my paragraph
Onto the floor
Falling through the crack in the wall
And taking its time 
In dying.