My pen leaks
black ink
on my fingers,
my pillow.
A spreading stain.
I spit on a tissue
and rub at it,
but the stain remains.
Dark thoughts come
spinning the wheels
in the night,
trying to gain traction.
Part of me enjoying
the dark complexity
I have made -
asked for perhaps.
Was it enough?
Part of me lost
and searching.
I lean at the edge
of the abyss, and peer.
Was it enough?
Faded ink stain a map to nowhere
on hands already etched
with the journeys taken
over the span of my years -
a life's tableaux.
Was it enough?
© Jennifer Phillips (All rights reserved)
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| © Coated Arms - 2013 Year of Combinations |
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