my word wandered in a whirlpool of dreams
bathed in waves of unsalted tears
and waited for King Morpheus
to lay it upon the evening tide.
it used to unfold like Christmas wrapping
undaunted by impatience
hiding under twisted lace of silver and gold
until a silent insanity crept into its spine.
every syllable screamed in agony
caught by the claws of crawling shadows
as if I was hung by my feet with an
open line
in my throat
letting the red pain of living too much slide
into the labyrinth of wrinkles in my smile.
a crisp silhouette of ink danced on the clouds of my thoughts
and I let the songs of a voice tempted by the dream king
rise from a bed of hollow pillows.