As I sprawled on the lines I wrote,
I hurt my head which banged an apostrophe,
got tripped by a comma and bashed by an exclamation.
I almost slipped to death as the phrase ended,
Luckily I hung to the past, by my neck, suspended.
It almost chocked me to the death,
but a sharp sarcasm cut the strings
I fell, broke some bones as it smirked, mocked and vanished
this section, I noticed, was peculiar
it was smooth, without breaks and bounces
floor yielded with every step I took.
As I looked around for a while, the picture cleared.
This section was nostalgia. this section was smeared.
Rotten ink and rusted nib,
torn paper like an old broken crib
I moved fast and dodged some sharp words
could have cut myself, could have bled me to the death
Traces of erased words tangled to my feet
like abandoned cobwebs, insignificant yet annoying
it left me baffled and I stepped on the grief
it stuck to the sole of my shoe
melting it to my flesh like an acid
I felt like a fly trapped in an ant’s nest
Instead of pulling my limbs they did emotional torments
I assumed my end and embraced the fate.
Sudden scratching sounds made me anxious
A bright white light broke out of the darkness
I felt a relief yet an uneasiness
my pen was out of ink
and so was my heart.