Cursed In Ink
it had been some time
since the walls
and the joins met,
but with each stride
foundations were lost
and flakes of misery
broomed my wake
the stigmata came
and it was as if,
my iron pen
had speared my wrists
someone called it writers cramp
but the sanctity of the odour
spoke otherwise
when the green began to ooze,
the hand of Esperanza
rested on my forehead
raking her nails
telling me
it was time
and,
that my hands had purpose
one last time
as each word envisioned
a thousand lashes
and each stanza speared
my side
I laid stripped
of flesh
each piece of flayed skin
raked off to fly the wind
dessicated to dust,
I laid in nirvana
mere moments
but,
falling through
the hourglass
I ran dry
now made of chalk
with each rub
I am diminished
to crumble
and the lines
grow ever obscure
Copyright © Jayne Eggins | Year Posted 2010
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