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My Writing Process MAG
October 27, 2011
Inky black tendrils
wrap around my mind
in its own perverse and suffocating embrace.
I am consumed,
feeling their terrible throb
aching deep in their bones.
It is secondhand suffering,
vicarious, controllable,
yet powerful
and glistening with
its dark, bittersweet beauty.
The tendrils morph
into thread.
I pull out my needle,
(my friend the pen)
and I sew
my own little image
on the fabric
(my friend the paper).
I am trapped in darkness,
until my name is called,
and I am pulled back.
I stamp a smile,
on my face,
and enter my native dimension.
© Devon S., Newton, NJ
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This article has 2 comments.
Poetry said...
on Jan. 10 2012 at 11:02 pm
Love the poem sooooo much!! Very buetiful!! If u like check my poems out!!
theweirdworder DIAMOND said...
on Nov. 12 2011 at 4:01 pm
Wow, I sent this in long before I got an account here. Anyway this is my actual account. Just thought I should link it.
