Maybe I should write more pleasant phrases, string together more positive ideas. But both positive and negative strings are beautiful. So I think I will create whatever comes to mind, not what people think I should write. This one is somewhat dark. Maybe positive ones will come from my thoughts tomorrow, but today these are my thoughts.
Drinking cheap merlot,
getting lost in a velvety mask of thoughts.
Filling each crevice behind the eyes
and the holes of the cork that lay on the cold metal dinner table
as they flow through the air and onto the paper.
Think about the pen, the ink, the words,
the permanent words,
the poisonous words,
the cancerous words.
The deadly phrases slowly take over your white blood cells,
your red blood cells,
your tissue, your bones, your soul.
They come from your mind and flow through the blood in your veins
to the tips of your fingers,
to the shaft of the pen,
to the strokes of the ink.
You write them.
You believe them.
You see them to be true.
They cannot be erased.