Process

My writing process, simplified and extoled

Tense words,

Strike the keys, find the word, find the word, find the word.

Process, strained and stained, prosaic at best.

Brutally loved by the worst kind of person,

Words fall. My dearest apologies to you.

Process be damned,

Light falls from the lips,

Darkness crawls along the seams.

Closing in are all those words, the ones whose voices seem so weak;

So stricken, grief-ridden, guilty,

Cried the last woman. Alive no doubt. Alive

At last, you state. How odd;

The peculiar sense of everything. What’s to say it all?

A burden, no doubt, crying in misery,

An aberration in the soul of the word,

A heart to the end, an end to its heart.

Boring at its best.

Reviews

[Phillips]

Perhaps your best piece... Very dark.