The dark corners of my mind remind me of cold alleyways. In my nightmares, these alleyways become long, inescapable corridors with no light hanging from the ceiling. Doors align the walls. Each of them adorned with a brass knob along with a keyhole. I check around my gaunt waist for a ring of keys. Instead, I feel one in the front pocket of my trousers. A skeleton. As darkness ensues the hallway, I frenetically jam my key into each door. To be the master, none of the locks seem to obey its wishes. Sudden realization sets in along with the panic that the only means of escape I've been presented with have returned to the ash every skeleton seems to meet. I back up against the gold embroidered, green velvet wall. My hands begin to shake. My posture falls. I'm as low as I feel, on the floor, head in my hands. I can't get out. Nothing gets out.
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•Mind on Paper•
PoetryThis is going to be a collection of late night thoughts and spurs of inspiration for your viewing pleasure. Some of these could be happy, sad, melancholic, and much more. My brain is the brush, the paper, or in this case the screen is my canvas. I...
