The Cure



When alone,

I get to thinking, drinking,

finding a zone.

Unblinking stares

where behind eyeballs,

sinking thoughts

settle in ink.



I lose track

of time, friends.

And only know

rhyme,

rhythm,

a pen

occupied

with depicting

divine sorrow.



In this moment

nothing matters.

I feel more alive

and real

than I ever thought possible.

As muse-ghosts

whisper in my ear

the deadly touch

to pen it all with such

vigor.



Tomorrow

I'll do it all again,

god willing.

And hopefully for eternity,

because it burns in me

and the only cure

is more flame.

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