I had this to say about that
but the chalk had been taken from me.
The cruel mistress of gravity calling the smudge stick to her cold, solid touch.
Shattering my utensil to a thousand pieces.
It woke me from the fevered impulse
I had started at midnight
dawn was cracking through my windows
like splinters rampaging down a frozen lake.
I put dusty fingertips to streaked cheeks
unintentional camoflauge keeping me invisible to the sane semblences of the houtside world.
What have I summoned here?
What terror from my heart have I birthed to this
already unfortunate world
of cheating mothers
burning libraries
screaming wardens
oak honed to clubs
steel built for cages
words, law, power
built for cages.
What have I done?
What have I done to deserve this world.
What have I done to face it alone?
Am I the saviour
the victim
or the apacolypse?
And why
oh various
faceless
ventriloquist gods
why have you placed this stone on my heart?
Am I to sink in the sea of trials you've manufactured?
Was I born with a beacon on my forehead?
Calling your attention to my constant suffering and your infantile taunts?
What is this message of black dust and whithering parchment?
What creeping innevitable dawn does it foretell?
What is this a harbinger of?
And why do I know to fear it?
Is it a vision of my enemy?
Or a representation of my purpose?
