Horizons of smoke
The burdening
The woeful well.
Dropping ideas like rainwater;
Like poison tokens
Or burning embers
To a pool of kerosene.
Like feeding a dragon
Hungry and deep throated.
No darkness could stop it
No world of light hearted notions
Or light in long tunnels.
Those things don't matter now.
Swallowing weights-
Heavy lids-
Propped with fear.
Hair's on end-
Trying to flee-
Thwarted by attachment.
A din of quiet:
Vital quiet
Ear shattering quiet
The sound of nails on slate
The sound of wailing life
A quiet that kills.
A sudden look back,
And there flies the children of that well!
Tattooing your mind like
Spilt black paint!
Splattered, disorderly!
Grabbing you, carrying you
While you clench for anything to hold onto!
There is no handle
There is no reaching hand
There is only you.
You, and this pit of ink,
And your poison ideas!
Forming a brush to shape the ink.
Unlocking chambers
Unlocking your true nightmares.