The Block

nothing special.................at all

The pen scrawls

scratches against a parchment

drawing its ink in bloody pools

tears roll

blood flows

 

Back aches

eyes shot through

sinews scream

minds rage

in syncopated beats

 

Bending pen

longing again

whispers

whispers

burning embers in discoloured snow

blank ages

pages

 

When will I see again?

inner stages

wasted

erges on

on

dried out

 

Dead!