It began With a pen In my hand Stabbed In the center of chaos To write out the light That lives within me That sought to break The darkness Eating me alive
For hours i would sit Dreaming, drawing Writing, believing
My arm in a sling One eye swollen shut
Whispering There would be a way out There must be A way out
Focused On the paper On the floor That held me Heavy as a stone In the corner Of that tiny room Floating on a river Of imagination
Isolated On my knees Seeded in the soil With girls Younger than i Holding their backs Arching puffed bellies Stuffed full with their Infected children
Celestial incest Terrestrial insects
We slept in boxes That doubled as coffins Because Some were smart enough To die