As I began to sell off my emotions,
I found myself devoid of all inspiration,
The Iron nib of my pen is waiting...
is waiting....
is waiting....
The Iron nib of my pen is waiting...

Like sucking blood from obsidian
I scribbled down snippets of wisdom,
The more I tried to transmit my pain,
The more this wretched form of happiness came.

I tried to lure it out with bribes,
Promises of vengeance and wicked diatribes.
The more I coax it,
The more it shys away and roots itself inside.

Is this really worth all the aggravation?

The idea hit me like genius, like lightning,
like claws excoriating my chest,
A dome opened within my head, my mind,
And sparks began to burn at the innards of my eye.

Rattling in the chair with my brain fit to explode
Hair smoldering and burning with my ragged charred clothes,
Spitting teeth across the floor whilst skin drips onto my shoes,
My eyes have melted through and the pain I feel has made its way to you.

 

(c)opyright Dr. Cyan