The Cutting
I sit all alone
with a candle as my light.
I stare at a lonely, blank piece of paper
and listen to the silence broken by a clock
Then gripping the dagger with my right hand
I contemplate the destiny that I have chosen.
These minor ponderings escape the confines of my mind
never to be trapped again.
My temples begin to pulsate
as thoughts begin to form.
they collagulate and slip down across my face.
Pools of inspiration fall to a bitter end.
Where once I saw emptiness
I now see only prose
