Art, Pen

Nightmare Version 1.0

When you hear what’s behind silence,
you fear and then tear random pages,
to make some rustle.
That’s what you are used to
and I’m too.

Scratching sound of pen,
and familiar smell of lies mixed in ink
feels like aftermath, a poor substitution
for standing in front and facing it.

Facing what?
A pulpy mass of shapeless self-blames?
Seeds of grief spreading roots under guilty ideas.
And marks of struggle to set free.
And run away.
Behind endless noise and senseless words.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s