Now high and dry, well away from
***** being kicked, orders being fired by
Sergeants in habits and the melancholy of misled minds,
I sit alone on the desk which floats supreme over life's listless limits.

A momentary meander allows for ripe reflection,
Its sharp spasm hampering heavy hands.
Abandoning the tangle of thoughts,
A loose leaf was plucked from the ream,
The quill now dipped in the bobbing black bottle.

Smudges and streaks stroke the initial lines,
Blotted out in choked coughs.
A quickening of the rapid's pace cleared the throat,
Allowing the quill to quell the heart's hinderance.
Stanzas threaded unabatedly over man's baseness on the blanched leaf.

The nightmare nine-metre vomiting verge approached fast.
I clinched the closing couplet
Afore etching the endangered ink on the etherised skin of my hand.
Holding on fiercely now to the desk which destroyed my drudgery,
Ready now to have my lungs filled to the brim with society’s sap.

Prior to the old soul taking its final breath,
Two bleeding and blessed eyes cast down to the bottom of the aquatic monster
Witnessed the immortality of black ink intact
Lifting up its lover leaf
Into the high heavens above,
Where man and rust cannot corrupt.