One day in September,
my mind felt trapped.
Like I was running down a darkened hall…
further,
and further,
and further.
But it was all just:
Black.

I wanted to tell someone,
my mind needed help.
But as I opened my mouth to speak, the words ran…
to the back of my throat,
down to the trachea,
where they could sit and hide.
Because it was all just:
Black.

These so called “thoughts”,
started replicating in my mind.
I could feel them crawling around the parietal…
eating away at any sense of control,
eating until my mind lost,
eating away all sense of soul.
Until my mind’s thoughts were simply:
Black.

One day a few years later,
I picked up a pen.
The black ink dripped upon the page…
with each drip of the pen,
came pouring each manifested thought.
No longer able to hide in the darkness of my mind,
but rather took form in the darkness of the ink,
each letter strung together as though a crown of black roses
was placed upon my head.
Rather than hiding in my mind,
the thoughts were exposed for him to understand.
The more I saw him, the more each petal withered.
Until one day in September, I stood upon nothing
but fallen petals that were all just

Black.