I don’t know what to write about
I cant sense what yearns to come out today
The nib of my pain has become dull
It tries to write sweet poetry,
But all it manages is thick illegible lines of blood.

The hurt and despair spill out,
but there is no instrument to form them to words
No skill to set them to meter,
So they flow unchecked,
Soil the sheets and make a mess

If I could I would fashion my misery into a song
To give as a gift to the next generations
They could read my words on the dungeon walls
When it is their time to be locked in
Written in acid tears:

‘I was here..

Life is inconvenient and annoying
Life is a round hole in a square peg
Life is miserable beauty and beautiful misery
Life is all that must be, and isn’t, but could be

Life is the shadow
of one moment of joy
gone forever
doubted forever

It must be reproduced by all means,
but cannot…

Life is, times up’