As a sponge I soak up buckets of rain.
Trapped inside as liquid pain.
Drenched with passion’s stench.
Almost as mentor
He was there.
Once or twice.
Two powerful pens.
We worked as one.
He sort of taught me how to write.

Well a little bit at least.
Always believed I did it well.
Helped me make and mend my range.
For he writes mainly darkness.

With a little help from you my friend.
Found my own darkness in the end.
I love the feel of darkness he conjured.

Will there to be light in my dark again?

By ladylivvi1



© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)