dangerous past-times

If I could write I would, but I find myself slumped over a cacophony of empty glasses.

Infact, when I do write, there is a no good reason for pen meeting paper.

Someone is hurting, a child is growing up without a mother or my eyes are drenched by misadventure.

This is how it happens, this is how i write.

A sick and ugly man dressing up depravity with carefully constructed sentences; just enough to protect those who are involved.

If i could write I could live as well.

The End

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